


Heroes come in many forms

by BloodyMarryMe



Series: Heroes come in many forms [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Blood and Gore, Comedy, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Friendship, Homosexuality, Light BDSM, M/M, Male Slash, Male-Male Relationship, Mostly an adventure/action story with a side of romance and comedy, Sex, Slow Burn, some mature or explicit sex scenes in the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-03-05 21:59:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 312,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13397112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyMarryMe/pseuds/BloodyMarryMe
Summary: The Clan was his everything. His home. His only family. And he thought his biggest duty in life would be to protect them and keep them safe. Then a damn tear in the sky happened and suddenly Nym’s world got a lot bigger. Now he needs to protect shems that don’t even like him and save the World, while hiding the fact that he’s just making it all up as he goes. But hey, at least he has a snarky dwarf and a giant pounding machine at his side.





	1. A Fish out of Water

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is my first Dragon Age story, so I hope I will make it an interesting one. There will be some original side-stories and original characters inside the main cannon story. Also some scenes or time-lines might not be the same as in the cannon (though mostly it is).  
> I’m not a native English speaker so I’m sorry for any mistakes I make, but I try to proofread each chapter.

Acquiring a human scout uniform was even easier than Nymrodel thought it would be. All he had to do was wait for nightfall and sneak closer to the camp where he saw clothes drying on a line of rope. Luckily, the forest surrounding the Temple proved to be excellent cover as he moved unnoticed through the woods, despite many others marching the same way as him. They all had the same destination; the Temple of Sacred Ashes, where the Devine Conclave would be held to determine appropriate course of action and hopefully negotiate peace between the Templars and the Mages. The Keeper of his Clan warned these talks won’t just determine the future of the Chantry or the Circles, but would affect all of Thedas, including Clan Lavellan. And so Nymrodel volunteered for the task of observing the negotiations, feeling it was a way to help his Clan.   

So far luck was on his side, and being a rogue and a scout for the Clan, staying hidden in the shadows was second nature to him.

He hid behind a tree, observing the two remaining humans who weren’t sleeping in their tents. They were left on guard duty, but were both unfocused and nodding off every now and then. It wasn’t surprising since everyone expecting to be at the Conclave were trekking a whole day’s worth to reach the top of the mountain. Soldiers marched all day in armor, while the hired men had to carry equipment and supplies with them and scouts had to rush to be in front of everyone to inform if there were any problems ahead; everyone was exhausted.

Careful to stay in the shadows, the roguish elf snuck carefully towards a set of clothes, waiting for the two guards to nod off again. He made sure not to step on any leaves or branches that could alarm the men, as he drew closer to his target. When the moment was right while the guards weren’t paying attention, he grabbed the scout uniform quickly and disappeared into the darkness of the forest once more. He grinned happily at a job well done.

He examined the clothes in his arms as he walked away; they were shemlen clothing, unnecessarily thick and heavy even for a scout’s light uniform, but it will have to do. If everything goes according to plan, tomorrow he will reach the Temple along with everyone else and start gathering information while staying as inconspicuous as possible. For now, everything was going smoothly and he could only hope tomorrow will be no different.

~…..~

“Wake up!”

He was roughly shaken awake, making him blink his eyes open in confusion. Two ice-blue eyes opened slowly, examining his surroundings. He heard a slamming of the doors and loud voices, but he was still too disoriented to make any sense of it. Nymrodel furrowed his eyebrows, trying to understand the situation, but never got the chance as he saw a woman in front of him. She was on him before he could even pull back or defend himself, grabbing him by the collar and roughly pulling him closer to her.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you right now!?”

His already pale skin turned to a ghostly shade of white when he heard her question. He wanted to push her away, but realized his wrists were chained. Looking down, he could see he was still wearing the shems’ uniform, but his dual daggers were missing, as were all his other weapons. Panic struck at his heart when he realized he was unarmed, defenseless and captured by these people. He was at the mercy of very _angry_ humans, as far as he could tell from the woman yelling at him.

At first he thought this was all about him spying at the Conclave. He thought they caught him, although he couldn’t actually remember being captured. As a matter of fact, he couldn’t remember _anything_ after yesterday night. He stayed quiet, deciding it was the best option for now and just observed the room around him. It was a dark place, with one guard at the corner and two women in front of him. All of them were armed, so his chances of fighting through them was nil. The big one was still yelling in an accent he couldn’t recognize while the redheaded one kept silent.

“The Conclave is destroyed, the Devine is dead, _everyone_ at the peace negotiations is dead!”

Nymrodel’s eyes widened in shock. _*What? What is she talking about?!*_ He didn’t have time to ask before the woman took his left hand and brought it to his face. As she did, a bright green light spread through his palm and it made a sound as if it was charged with electricity. He stiffened. Okay, now he was officially freaking out.

“Explain this,” the woman demanded in a calmer tone, but equally murderous as before.

The elf stared at his own palm with wide eyes, gaping at the state of his left hand. “I…I can’t.” He desperately tried to think of a good explanation, tried to remember what happened to him, but he simply couldn’t. He knew such an answer would likely only bring more fury upon him by the black-haired woman, but it was the truth.

“You’re lying!” As expected, the woman didn’t accept his explanation. She grabbed his shoulders, tightening her grip on his slender arms enough to bruise.

“Wait, Cassandra!” Finally, the redheaded woman made her move. Her accent was different from the other. Orlesian, he guessed. She grabbed the bigger woman and stopped her from hurting the prisoner, leading her a few steps away from him. “Remember, we need him.”

Meanwhile, the elf still tried to make sense of the situation. “I don’t understand anything! I was at the Conclave, yes, I came to observe the negotiations, but I can’t remember anything else,” he shook his head.

The woman Nymrodel now knew as Cassandra sighed in resignation as she calmed down.

The two walked back towards him and he stiffened, expecting another onslaught. Fortunately, it never came. Instead, it was the redhead who crouched before him now.

“What is your name?”

Crystal blue eyes looked up at her timidly. “Nym...Nymrodel.” At first he answered her with the usual nickname everyone called him at the Clan, but then remembered this situation demanded something more official. Still, he left his Clan name unsaid. He couldn’t risk these humans raining down their wrath on his Clan too. If he was to die here, so be it, but he wouldn’t sell out his Clan no matter how much they tortured him. He needed to keep them out of this, at least.

The woman nodded. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

Nym’s eyes darted across the floor as if he would somehow find the answers there. He closed his eyes tightly in frustration, trying to remember anything. If he could appease these humans at least a little, maybe they wouldn’t kill him. A few flashes came to his mind; running, spiders, a woman, then a bright light…It made no sense but it’s all he could remember.

“I…remember I was running, with some... _things_ chasing me. And then a...woman,” he answered as best he could.

The woman frowned in confusion, “A woman?”

* _Hey, don’t ask me, I’m just as confused about it as you are,*_ Nym thought, but kept it to himself. He had a feeling they wouldn’t appreciate the input.

Now it was Cassandra’s turn to lead the other one away. “Go to the forward camp Leliana. I will take him to the rift.”

The redhead known as Leliana nodded and left the dark room, while Cassandra went to work on Nymrodel’s chains. The small elf stiffened, knowing full well that he was hardly in the clear yet. And if he tried to run, he’d probably get killed on the spot or arise even more suspicion of himself. He had no idea what he was dealing with or how many guards were outside the door, so trying anything now would be simply foolish. Instead, he let the woman work on his chains as she released the ones on his ankles, but kept his wrists tied in rope.

“What happened,” he dared a whispered question.

The woman’s lips tightened in a thin line before she spoke with a troubled expression. “It would be easier to show you.”

That answer couldn’t be good, Nym knew it. But he was hardly prepared for what he saw outside. Despite the cloudy day, his eyes still hurt and watered when the outside light hit his face. His short snow-white hair almost glistened in the daylight. He raised his hands to shield his eyes before he got used to the light, then gazed up at the sky…and gasped. He could hardly believe what he was seeing, let alone describe it to anyone if asked. A massive whirlpool of green light mixed with debris, which looked like it swallowed a part of the sky. If there was ever a portal to the Beyond, he was sure this is what it would look like. Nym didn’t know what explanation there was for it, but it couldn’t be anything good. He could already imagine all the horrifying possibilities.

“We call it the ‘Breach.’ It is a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger every passing hour,” Cassandra explained.

_*I was wrong. It_ could _be worse than I imagined,*_ the elf deadpanned in his mind.

Cassandra turned towards him as she continued, “It is not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion of the Conclave.”

Nym’s gaze fell to his feet as a pang of sorrow hit his chest. There were so many people at the Conclave, did all of them really die? So how come he was the only one who survived it? Numerous questions swirled inside his muddled mind, but no answers came. He frowned as one more question materialized, “Can an explosion really do all this?”

“This one did. Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world,” the warrior woman explained.

As if to prove her point, an explosion was heard from the Breach and Nymrodel’s left hand instantly acted up. A burning pain shot through his hand, pooling in the green scar of his palm. He screamed in sudden agony, falling to his knees in surprise.

“What…What’s happening to me!?” All thoughts of staying calm flew out the window with the searing pain coming from this foreign mark.

Cassandra knelt before him as she spoke, though Nym could hardly stay focused on her as fear gripped his heart. He was trembling from both pain and panic.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads and it is killing you!”

From the look of the bright mark on his hand, Nym knew she wasn’t lying.

As if sensing his despair, the woman continued. “Not all is lost yet! That mark may also be the key to stopping this…but there isn’t much time so we must hurry.”

“Hurry _where_?” Slowly, the elf stood back up, but the pained scowl didn’t leave his young features.

“We need to close that Breach and your mark might be a key to doing that. But we must test it first. This is your only way to save yourself…and prove your innocence.”

“You still think I’m the one to blame? That I did this to myself?” Nymrodel couldn’t help rising his voice in frustration. He wasn’t even a mage and this power obviously seemed magical. There was no possible way for him to do something like this even if he wanted to.

“Not intentionally…But someone _is_ responsible and you are our only suspect. You might not be responsible for the explosion, but you are clearly involved…this mark on your hand proves it,” she explained, much calmer than she was when interrogating him. However, that hardly helped him relax knowing he was still treated as a criminal.

The elf closed his eyes and sighed deeply before nodding, “I understand. I’ll do what I can…though I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be doing.”

The woman seemed pleased with his answer and nodded in understanding, “Come.”

She laid a hand on his shoulder as she guided him down the path filled with people, but rather than for comfort, it was probably just to keep him in check in case he tried to run. Not that he had anywhere to go. They were deep in the cold mountains and he was surrounded by humans that thought him their enemy.

“They already decided your guilt. They need someone to blame,” Cassandra started next to him.

He noticed the glares and glowers filled with malice and hate directed at him. He had to stop himself from wincing at the bloodthirst he felt from these humans. He shrunk into himself as if staying small and unnoticeable would help him disappear and avoid their prosecution.

“The people of Haven mourn Devine Justinia, our most holy. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between Mages and Templars. She brought their leaders together and now they are dead. We lash out as the sky, but we must think beyond ourselves, as she did. Until the Breach is sealed.” As Cassandra talked, they walked down the main road and out of Haven, to the vast outdoors.

Everything was covered in snow, giving the world an almost peaceful atmosphere if one didn’t look up at the torn sky. Nym could see the white mist gathering around his lips with every breath, but at least the thick shemlen clothing kept him warm. The slender elf almost looked like he was a natural part of this wintry place with his milky pale skin and pure white hair. Even his eyes were the same color as the bright ice gathering on the rocks around them.

He did understand what Cassandra was trying to tell him; ‘This is bigger than any of us, so for now we must work together.’ It was something his Keeper would say and Nymrodel did agree. Yet he couldn’t help but worry what will happen to him once this was over. When they won’t need him anymore. His mind went back to the hateful stares from earlier. He doubted these humans would care about justice for one shifty ‘knife-ear’ as they so often called his people.

He was brought out from his thoughts when the woman suddenly pulled out a knife and stepped towards him. He had to fight the urge to step back in response. _*No, if she wanted to kill me, she would have already done so,*_ he reasoned with his alarmed mind. It wasn’t in his nature to stay still when someone was coming towards him with a knife.

As if reading his thoughts, Cassandra spoke up, “There will be a trial. I can promise no more.” With that, she cut the rope tying his wrists together and put the knife away.

Nym sighed, rubbing the soreness out of his chafed wrists. Now if only he could get his hands on some weapons as well. Sadly he guessed his dual daggers were already long gone and he doubted he’d be seeing them again. Despite being Dalish, Nymrodel had always been better with blades than with a bow. Compared to the hunters of his clan he was barely average in archery, but give him a short blade and he could swiftly spar with any opponent. It was like a dance for him, where every step was another deadly strike.    

“So we are going to just…close that thing?” Nym gazed up at the large rift suspiciously. That sounded too easy.

“Not yet. We must test your mark on something smaller first. Come, it is not far.” Cassandra already started walking ahead, her back turned to him. Perhaps she trusted him enough now to know he wouldn’t try to escape.

~…..~

Nymrodel never had much experience with demons. During travels with the Clan, they would sometimes encounter them in old ruins or ancients burial sites, but those were usually Wrights or Shades at worst. The Keeper would either cleanse the place of them or decide for the Aravels to move on, not wanting to risk any corruption or unnecessary casualties. Of course, all of the Dalish in his clan were taught by the Keeper about the danger of demons and also how to best fight them. Nym studied carefully every demon known to man and their weaknesses, but his knowledge was vastly theoretical.  

That is why the demon before him was nothing like he ever encountered before. It stood before him in twice his height, with scraggy green skin and numerous dark eyes piercing him with their hollow stare. Each finger on its thin long hand was actually a claw, sharp enough to tear his flesh right off the bones. The type of this creature was called a Terror Demon and as it slowly dragged its legs towards him while letting out an ear-piercing screech, Nym felt like there was never a name more accurate for it.

However, he wasn’t unarmed and defenseless as he previously was. On their way, the elf managed to get his hands on a pair of dual daggers along with some other supplies scattered next to a destroyed shipment. He even managed to find a few healing potions which both him and Cassandra distributed between themselves. At first Cassandra wanted to take his head for using weapons without her permission, but luckily the warrior saw reason and let him keep them. Good thing she did, because they’ve been encountering demons ever since. It seemed the closer they were to the Breach, the more demons roamed the area.    

He tightened his grip around the daggers as if he could squeeze the needed courage out of them. Watching the Terror demon approach him, he wished he had some throwing knives with him as well, but he would have to make do with the two weapons in his hands. He waited before the creature was right in front of him, rising its long clawed hand into the air. Just as it swung it down, about to tear at his throat, the elf jumped into a forward roll and towards the only opening he saw; through its legs. Thankfully, the tall and thin frame of the demon gave him enough room to maneuver through. When its claws swung down, they only ripped through air, while the elf found himself safely behind the demon’s back. Wasting no time, he quickly turned and slashed with both his daggers at the back of its knees. It screeched loudly, though he couldn’t tell whether it was out of pain or fury. Could demons even feel pain? The thought was fleeting and he acted again, before it had the chance to turn around. He jumped on its back, stabbing the two blades into it. His weight pulled the piercing daggers down with him and the weapons ripped through the demon’s slightly hunched back. Nym landed back on the ground in a crouch, watching the creature before him shriek and writhe in agony as its body slowly fell apart into fragments. It dispersed into thin air and the green flecks returned back to the fade through the open rift.

His gaze traveled across his surroundings. It wasn’t just him and Cassandra anymore. They came to a clearing where more human soldiers were fighting the demons. In the middle of the chaos was a green disturbance in the air. It was smaller than the one he saw from Haven, but it still looked like someone forcefully split open reality itself.

He quickly ran over to the small rift only for a large Shade demon to cut in his way. It was bigger than any Shade he fought before and it roared as if trying to intimidate him. The elf took a deep breath and gripped his dual daggers again, but before he could act, a large fireball hit the Shade and set it on fire. It roared once more before turning into a puddle of black goo.

_*A mage?!*_ Nym scanned around the area to see who threw that fireball, but he didn’t have to look far. The man responsible already appeared before him, taking the wrist of his left hand rather forcefully.

“Quickly, you must close the rift!” The mage before him was an elf, but bare-faced and wearing strange clothing that neither fit the image of city elves nor the Dalish.

“Wait-,“ Nym tried to protest, uncertain what the other was trying to do with him, but before he could, the mage lifted his marked hand towards the fade rift.

His mark made a crackling sound and so did the rift, before they both connected by a stream of pure energy. Nymrodel gasped, both afraid and astonished as he felt a strange pull of energy between himself and the portal. He gaped in awe, eyes wide as he felt his hand was connected to fade itself. The crackling noises continued until a burst came through the rift and with a small explosion of energy, it closed. “Ah!” The sudden burst hit right into Nym’s palm, almost knocking him onto his backside. “What…what in the name of Fen’Harel was that,” he exclaimed, staring at all the people present around him. There were a few soldiers and two new faces that didn’t quite fit in with the rest; the mage elf and a dwarf.

“So it is true; you _can_ close the rifts with that mark,” the elf commented with a satisfied smile, ignoring Nym’s outburst.

“Then perhaps he can close the Breach as well,” Cassandra noted.

Nymrodel tried to glare at them both at the same time, “Can you please stop talking about me like I’m not even here.” It felt like he was the only one without any idea what was going on and it was really starting to get frustrating. He hated feeling so out of control, even when his own life was on the line.

“Right, sorry about that.” The one who spoke was the dwarf holding an unusual crossbow. Nymrodel wasn’t an artisan, but even he noticed the fine craftsmanship of the weapon. “One easily forgets his manners when he’s fighting demons all day,” he joked. “Name’s Varric Tethras. A rogue, storyteller, businessman and occasionally – unwelcome tagalong,” he bowed slightly as a greeting, while winking at Cassandra. She only have him a glare in return.

“That’s a lot of occupations; you must be exhaustingly busy,” Nym noted with a joking smirk and the other laughed.

“What can I say, I’m a hardworking man,” he answered in the same jesting manner while shrugging.

“Yes, your help has been…appreciated, Varric, but your job is done. I only brought you here to tell your story of what happened in Kirkwall to the Devine and now that is impossible.” A shadow of guilt and sadness crossed her expression as she remembered Devine Justinia’s untimely demise once more.

“If you haven’t noticed, Seeker, we’re ass-deep in demons! You need any help you can get,” the dwarf responded as the two argued.

 As if eager to change the subject, the mage elf spoke to break the sudden tense atmosphere. “And my name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am glad to see you yet live,” he greeted. Nym rose his eyebrow in question at Solas’ words.

“He means; I stopped the mark from killing you while you slept,” Varric explained, seeing the young elf’s puzzled look.

“You know about my mark…what it is?” Nymrodel felt a glimmer of hope rise inside his heart. Perhaps this mage knew how to get rid of it too.

“I study the fade extensively. Whatever magic opened that large rift in the sky, it also placed that mark on your hand. I theorized that your mark might be a way to close these rifts and I was correct,” he explained, a hint of satisfaction in his voice that his hypothesis proved true.

On the other hand, Nym wasn’t as pleased. Yes, he was glad he could help with stopping these fade rifts, but having the same magic on his hand that destroyed the Conclave just implicated him further. _*Great, now I look even guiltier,*_ he frowned in thought. _*I still don’t understand why I even have this thing on me…*_

“Solas came to us willingly. He volunteered to help with the Breach shortly after he appeared. He is an apostate,” Cassandra explained.

“Technically all mages are apostates now, Seeker. If we do not close the Breach, we are all doomed, regardless of origin,” the mage pointed out matter-of-factly.

Nymrodel nodded. “I can agree with that. That’s why I want to help too. I think nobody wants this world to stay _ass-deep_ in demons,” he grinned at Varric, repeating the dwarf’s previous words. He turned back to the other elf then, “Thank you for saving my life.”

The man nodded in return with a smile before questioning him further. “You do not know how your mark came to be?”

The rogue elf frowned. “I don’t remember. I woke up and it was just…there.”

“Conveniently,” Cassandra mumbled with obvious disdain.

 Solas turned towards the woman. “Seeker, you should know; the power of the Breach is like none I’ve ever seen. I find it difficult to believe any mage has such power and your prisoner isn’t even a mage.”

Nym was surprised at first, but then a feeling of gratitude washed over him. Solas was standing up for him, in a sense. He was trying to exonerate him of the crimes everyone else accused him of so far. He knew the mage didn’t do it without cause; it meant he truly didn’t believe Nymrodel was guilty, but that was enough for him. He turned his hopeful gaze to the warrior woman who sighed in return.

“I understand,” was all she said, but Nym already realized she wasn’t a woman of many words. It was a miracle he even got that much out of her. Still, even if he couldn’t convince her of his innocence, perhaps Solas’ words could at least make her doubt his guilt.

“And what about your name,” Varric started. “I could give you a nickname, but knowing your actual name would be a good start too.”

“Oh, right!” With all that was happening around him, Nym realized he completely forgot to introduce himself. “My name is Nymrodel, but everyone just calls me Nym for short. It’s less of a tongue-twister,” he managed a small smile. Once again, he kept his Clan name to himself; just in case. These odd individuals didn’t seem like bad people, but it was far too early to risk them finding out about his Clan.

“Heh, I agree,” Varric chuckled. Then he lifted his heavy-looking crossbow. “And this is Bianca! Say hello, Bianca!” He talked as if the weapon was a real person, making Nym blink in wonder.

“You named your crossbow Bianca? Rather…you _named_ your crossbow?”

“Of course! Such a beauty deserves a name, don’t ya think,” the dwarf questioned with a wide grin.

“Uhh…” Was Nym supposed to seriously answer that or…? His long ear twitched as it caught the soft sound coming from Cassandra when she made a disgusted noise. He could just imagine her rolling her eyes at Varric.

“Come on, we must proceed to the forward camp quickly,” she called out, deciding to stop this useless chatter. They had far more important things to take care of.

The dwarf shrugged as they all followed after the Seeker, “Well Bianca’s excited.”

~…..~

“Hey Varric,” the other rogue whispered as their newly formed group made their way towards the Temple of Sacred Ashes – or what was left of it at least. Now that they confirmed Nym’s mark could close the fade rifts, there was only one thing to do; get to the large rift there and close it. Nym didn’t feel particularly confident about it, but at least he wasn’t alone in this endeavor. And however dangerous it may be, even he could understand it was important to see it through. He didn’t want this world to be plagued with demons any more than the rest of the group. Every time his will would falter, he would remember Clan Lavellan and it would give him strength to press on. No matter what, he needed to protect them.

The dwarf turned towards him with a questioning hum. They were a bit behind the group that had grown in members. Besides the elf mage and Cassandra, the redhead Leliana and a few of their soldiers also accompanied them to the Temple. Although he was certain Solas had no problem hearing them since he was too an elf and had sensitive hearing, in all honesty, Nym was more worried about angering Cassandra. So he kept his voice low.

“Why do you call Lady Cassandra ‘Seeker’?”

“What, you don’t know?” Despite the elf’s obvious attempts to stay unnoticeable, the dwarf spoke in a loud voice, uncaring that the woman in question might hear. Nym flinched when he saw a few heads turning their way in interest, but Varric either didn’t notice or didn’t mind as he continued in his usual tone, “Because, that’s what she _is_ ; A Seeker of Truth. Kind of like a Templar…Didn’t she tell you _anything_?!” His demanding gaze pierced Cassandra’s back, the voice carrying far enough for the woman to hear. “I bet they didn’t even introduce themselves properly, or mention who they are, or who these soldiers are,” he sighed, a bit irritated.

“He is on a need-to-know basis. The prisoner is accused of a terrible crime,” Cassandra bit back, turning her head ever so slightly to acknowledge them.

Nym hated being reminded of that.

“Yet you want his help. Unless you just decided to take him out and show him the sights,” Varric poked back at her.

Wanting to stop another bickering session between the two, the elf rogue interfered, “So who are they all?”

“Cassandra and Leliana are the Right and Left hand of the Devine, respectively,” the dwarf explained.

Respectively or not, the Dalish had no idea what that meant. He gave the dwarf a questioning stare.

Varric continued, understanding he’d have to explain a bit further than that, “They were the Devine’s unofficial agents; doing things like gathering these soldiers.

That’s when Solas interjected, “Since the Templar Order abandoned the Chantry to hunt down mages, the Chantry was left without an army. They needed a replacement.”

“It is more than just that,” the redhead known as Leliana spoke up now. She walked alongside the Seeker, as they all headed for the Temple together.

“Yes, clearly the Devine had something in mind for them,” Varric noted rather cryptically.

“Let’s move on,” Cassandra urged, but that only made Nym more suspicious of what he heard.

_*If one is gathering an army, doesn’t that usually mean they are preparing for war? Even before the Conclave, we heard rumors of the Devine starting an Exalted March because of the mage uprising. Now that they lost the Templars, perhaps they need another army to make that happen,*_ Nym’s mind raced with thoughts as he bit his lower lip, his gaze almost burning a hole in Cassandra’s back. He knew of the Exalted March from the Dalish stories of their history. It was a terrible army that once almost wiped out his entire people. The thought of it being called once more made a chill run down his spine. If that were to happen, he wanted to get away with his Clan as far as possible before the destruction it would cause reached them.

Wanting to distract himself from such bleak thoughts, he turned towards the dwarf again. “So I take it you and Cassandra know each other?”

Varric’s eyes narrowed as if he just remembered something unpleasant. “You could say that…She stabbed my book,” he frowned.

Nym’s head tilted in confusion. _*Is that some kind of euphemism?*_

“I did no such thing,” a defensive exclaim from somewhere in front called out.

Leliana’s amused laughter followed suit.

Varric sighed in irritation. Not at the elf’s questions, but at some distant memory he was reliving. “She questioned me and then dragged me here to give evidence to the Conclave,” he explained.

“And now I can’t get rid of him,” Cassandra finished for him in an irked tone.

Leliana chuckled once more. “But he has proven quite useful so far, no?”

Cassandra only grunted in dissatisfaction as an answer.

“The reason you two weren’t at the Conclave was because you were questioning Master dwarf here, yes?” Solas spoke up.

Nymrodel noticed both Leliana’s and Cassandra’s backs straightened at that, as they suddenly went rigid.

“Yes…,” the Seeker managed to push the word out through her teeth.

“A fortunate delay then…considering it saved your lives,” the mage continued in an aloof attitude.

However, it seemed the two women didn’t share his opinion. The air around them suddenly tensed. The warrior woman spoke first. “There was nothing fortunate about it! Perhaps if we had been there we might have…this might all have been….,” she couldn’t even force herself to finish her thoughts.

“Cassandra,” it was Leliana who stopped her with a gentle voice. “There is no reason to torture yourself with ‘what ifs’ now.”

“But you feel the same way, Leliana,” the Seeker countered, pain dripping from her voice.

“Yes…and I too have asked myself the same questions countless times. I will regret it for the rest of my life, not being at the Conclave…when the Most Holy needed me. But now, we must turn that pain into strength and push on…that is what she would have wanted,” the Left Hand of the Devine explained, her voice just as sorrowful as Cassandra’s.

“I apologize…I didn’t mean to cause any pain with my words,” Solas sighed.

“But it is the truth. Everyone at the Temple died. If you had been there, you would have died too and then nobody would be here now to deal with this Breach and the demons. You stepped up and organized these men and women when there was no one else to act. You had that chance only because you lived,” Nym answered straightforwardly. Perhaps a bit too straightforward, but that was simply his personality. His way of thinking told him they had nothing to feel guilty about. Being one of the Dalish, he was used to thinking practically. For him Solas’ words, even if too frank for their liking, were true. To Nym it made sense to want to live, to survive and fight on. They should be glad they lived.

Both Cassandra and Leliana turned to look at him and he half expected to see them glare daggers at him. Instead, their expressions told him they were taken aback by his words. Was it because he, a mere prisoner, dared to speak up? He gulped, suddenly feeling regretful. The Keeper always warned him his big mouth would get the better of him one day. _*Dammit, I just got too caught up in the conversation and Varric’s relaxed mood. I forgot I am in a different situation than the rest of them. Although Varric was once Cassandra’s prisoner from what I can gather and he is still alive; at least that’s comforting.*_

While Nym was contemplating whether he should quickly apologize for his brash statements, Cassandra spoke to him, “I….you are right. Thinking of it that way is…perhaps a little comforting,” she admitted softly.

Nym was left in shock, never expecting the big warrior woman could show even this small sign of gentleness.

Leliana didn’t say anything, but she smiled before turning her back to them along with Cassandra.

Varric and Nymrodel were left staring at the woman’s back in bewilderment.

“Well I’ll be damned…,” the dwarf muttered beneath his breath, one eyebrow raised.

~…..~

Saying the Temple of Sacred Ashes was a wreck wouldn’t do it justice. The area looked as if Damnation itself poured onto every poor soul unfortunate enough to be here at the time. Everything was covered in cinders and soot, blackening the ground and walls of what’s left of the Temple. Charred remains of the people were littered around them, some of them still bearing the terrified expressions they wore right before their deaths.

Nym stared at one of the people, unrecognizable beyond the thin, scorched form that was once a human being. The body was still on its feet, crouching and shielding their face as if the person was trying to protect themselves in their last moments. Their eyes and mouth stayed wide in shock as the person witnessed the explosion right before it swept them away as well.

The elf felt a chill rise in his heart at the sight before him. There was so much destruction here, so much death, yet he somehow managed to survive all this. Seeing the remains of the Temple now, it felt even less possible than before; no wonder nobody believed his story.  

“Come, we must find a way down to the rift,” Cassandra called out to him, breaking him away from the dreaded feelings and thoughts. She could see the elf became sickly pale as he watched the ruins, but such a reaction was expected. Right now, everyone felt the same. They were all in despair about what came to be at this place.

Absentmindedly, the elf stared at the glowing mark on his hand before he turned from the charred bodies and gazed at the fade rift up ahead. It was morphing and shifting like it was alive. Who knows what atrocities would come out of it once they get close.

Even so, they pushed on. Through narrow passageways that led downwards in a spiral, closer towards the ruins where the giant fade rift spread above them. Spikes of red stone grew out of the ground and walls, its red veins spreading like braches into the surroundings. The red stone glowed and crackled, corrupting even the air around it.

“This is red lyrium,” Varric exclaimed in surprise. “Just like in Kirkwall, but there’s even more of it here! Why would it be here, Seeker?”

When Varric lost his laid-back disposition, Nymrodel knew things were bad. Whatever this red lyrium was, it was obviously dangerous if even the dwarf feared it.

“What is this thing? I’ve never seen lyrium in this color before,” the elf muttered, wanting to examine it more closely, only for Varric to pull him away.

“Whatever you do, don’t touch it! This stuff is vile! Just being near it is enough to mess with your mind. Both Knight-Commander Meredith and my brother went insane because of it. In the end, the Knight-Commander turned into a red statue in the Kirkwall Gallows and nobody even wants to get close enough to remove it,” Varric explained, all the while keeping the same disgusted expression on his face as he stared at the spikes of red stone.

“So it’s corrupted lyrium…as if normal lyrium wasn’t poisonous enough for most people,” Nym grumbled, narrowing his eyes at the red veins traveling across the ground.

“I have no idea why it’s here, but now isn’t the time, Varric. We have more pressing matters,” the Seeker reminded as she gazed up at the rift.

“Indeed. I believe we are here,” Solas called out as they found themselves on what was left of a terrace on the upper level. Below them was a clearing, once a courtyard, now covered in ruble. Above the clearing was the rift, distorting the atmosphere around it.

“I will stay up on the terrace with the archers. We can cover you from there if something gets through,” Leliana called out. She took her bow, then started positioning her men on the upper level where they would have the best view of the courtyard below.

Meanwhile, Nymrodel focused his big elven eyes on the rift. His mark crackled with power, as if calling him to use it. But something felt wrong. “This rift is….different,” he stated.  

“Yes, this rift hasn’t opened correctly,” Solas started, bringing the other elf’s attention to himself. “I believe you can use your mark to open the rift completely and then close it properly. However, opening it will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons! Be ready for anything,” Cassandra called out, unsheathing her sword and rising her shield in preparation.

“Oh great, more demons,” Nym sighed, but raised his left hand anyway. He opened his palm, focusing on the fade rift above him. Just like before, a connection appeared between his mark and the rift, but it was different this time. Instead of pulling the energy from the rift, the mark seemed to feed it power, causing the rift to open completely.

It would have been great if he could’ve just opened the rift and then quickly closed it without any trouble. Alas, that didn’t happen. The half-summoned rift must’ve attracted the attention of spirits who were pushing against the Veil on the other side. As soon as Nymrodel opened the portal completely, those spirits flew through. The silent Wraiths made from the fade he could deal with. But that _thing_ that came through with them. It was three times the size of a person both in height and girth. It looked like it had the capacity to swallow him whole, and judging by the rows of big razor-sharp teeth, it would be a very unpleasant experience.

“A Pride demon!” Cassandra celled out. “Weaken it, chip at his armor with your blows!” She was the first to throw herself into battle without hesitation, without fear. As intimidating as the big woman could be, Nym couldn’t help but be impressed. He watched her take the lead, rising the morale of her men, as she slammed her shield right into the large demon’s knee, making it stumble back from the sudden blow.

On the terrace, Leliana gave her troops orders, shouting for them to give supporting fire to the group fighting below. “The squad on the left, aim for the Wraiths and Shades that come through! The rest of you, aim for the Pride demon. Help distract it so the ground group can finish it off!”

Meanwhile, Nym could feel a slight rush of power coursing through him. His skin felt electrified slightly and he realized it was the elven mage, casting a protective barrier around them all. The rogue pulled out his dual daggers from the sheaths on his back and glared up at the monstrous demon. It laughed deeply as it struck at its foes, delivering devastating blows with its gigantic arms. The elf ran towards it, throwing himself to the ground and sliding the rest of the way on the stone just as the demon swung its arm. It swished above his head and he could feel the air tickle at his hair from the arm’s movement. He found himself below the demon and without delay stabbed both his daggers into the side of the demon’s knee. All he could do was try and slow it down, constrict its movements or bring it to its knees if he’s lucky, so Cassandra could use the opportunity to strike at its head and other weak points.

Ice and lightning flew around him as Solas used his magic to support the warriors, accompanied by Varric’s barrage of small but strong bolts from his crossbow. Above them, the sky was clouded by carefully shot arrows that pierced the incoming demons.

The pride demon roared loudly when Nymrodel’s daggers pierced its thick skin. It whirled around, trying to hit its assailant. At the demon’s sudden spin, the elf was tossed aside like a rag doll, still tightly holding onto his weapons that fell out of the demon’s knee.

He looked up just in time to see the Pride demon collecting energy into its hands. It was about to hit the elf with its electrical attack. _*I need to move! It will fry me if I let it hit me directly!*_ But Nym was lying on his back and had no time to move far enough to dodge the wide-spread power attack. His eyes widened, darting around to find a better solution then just ‘trying to dodge’ when a shadow appeared before him.

Nym’s eyes widened when he saw Cassandra standing in front of him with her shield covering her as she took the full brunt of the attack. She stopped the electricity blast and it spread everywhere around them, except onto the pair protected by the shield.

He couldn’t believe it. Until now, Cassandra showed no concern for him. She didn’t even use his name, only calling him ‘The prisoner’ so as to keep her distance from him. Yet just now, she protected him. She saved his life.

He opened his mouth to say something, but the Seeker interrupted him with a shout, “Move!”

She didn’t need to tell him twice. Hopefully if they survive this, there will be time to say his thanks later, but for now they were still in the middle of a battle. He needed to think of their current situation and stay focused.   

He made a side roll, distancing himself from the Pride demon and stood up right in front of a Shade. He spun once while he rose to his feet, slashing at its chest with his right dagger, than continued his spin to avoid its claw attack before slashing it again with both blades; chest and neck this time. The shade made a gurgling noise before it turned into a puddle of black liquid.

Nym looked at his group who were desperately fighting the Pride demon while more demons kept pouring out of the rift. _*This isn’t enough. The rift is still too strong to close it and we can’t keep fighting for much longer. The demons will swarm all over us soon,*_ he thought, hastily trying to think of something. He didn’t understand how he could tell the rift’s strength, but he simply felt it with his mark.     

“Young master Nym!” Solas called out to him from nearby. “I have an idea. If you use your mark on the rift, even if you cannot close it yet, you can disrupt it and therefore weaken the demons that traveled out of it,” the mage explained in a hurry, casting another spell towards the Pride demon. He managed to freeze its legs this time, giving Cassandra and Varric some time to deliver a few good blows to it. The demon’s skin was so thick, it was like natural armor and it made it hard for arrows or swords to pierce through it.

Thanks to Solas’ suggestion, the rogue actually felt a flicker of hope appear. He gave a relieved smile to the mage, “Evanuris lasa ma enansal, you read my mind!”  He ran forward, cutting through a Wraith on his way, getting as close as he could to the rift without attracting attention of the demons. Luckily, the others were keeping the Pride demon busy, but he still had to worry about the smaller ones coming at him every so often.

“Varric,” he called out to the sharpshooter who was currently drilling holes into one of the Shades. “Give me some cover while I do this.”

“Sure…But do _what_?”

Despite having no idea what Nym was planning, Varric proceeded to keep demons away from the elf, giving him enough time to work.

He had no time to waste. Nymrodel focused on the rift and raised his hand high into the air, feeling that unnerving electrifying sensation between his fingers whenever he made a connection between the mark and the rift. He prayed to Mythal for this to work; the one known as the Protector and whose vallaslin he wore on his face to remind him every day of his duty to protect his Clan, his People, and in this moment the companions who fought by his side. He closed his eyes to focus, feeling his hand tremble from the surge of power coming out of his mark. Touching the fade like this daunted him every time, as it felt like he was almost physically connected to it, but he couldn’t stop for anything now. Even as he felt the pain and heat in the palm of his marked hand, Nymrodel strengthened his resolve and continued the connection.

Perhaps Mythal heard his prayers and answered them, because the rift burst as if overcharged by the mark’s power. It didn’t close, but all the demons stumbled as if momentarily weakened.

“Everyone attack the Pride demon, now!” Without waiting for conformation, the roguish elf rushed towards the large monster that was currently on its knees and jumped high in the air above it. He turned face-down, spinning his body in the air and slashed with both daggers at its head. The strange horns on the Pride demon’s head were sliced apart by his blades. Using his fall, the elf stabbed both weapons right at the top of the head where he guessed the armored skin was somewhat softer.

The demon roared in pain, trying to lift to its feet, but the others wouldn’t have it. Varric aimed for the demon’s numerous eyes and Solas froze its lower body so it couldn’t stand up.

Still having his two daggers stuck in the monster’s head, Nym pulled backwards with them, manipulating the demon’s movements. It had no choice but to go along with the pull of its head, leaning backwards and exposing its chest. “Cassandra,” Nym called out as he gave her a clear view of the demon’s front side, where the armor wasn’t as thick. Before, the demon was guarding itself well, making it hard to even hit that spot, but now with its arms and legs frozen, half blind and chest exposed, Cassandra had a perfect opportunity at its heart. Still, it wouldn’t last long. The Pride demon was struggling, the ice already breaking slowly under its trashing and it was over whatever weakness the small explosion of the rift created. The other demons were also slowly recovering and will soon be all over them once more.

Cassandra didn’t intend to wait and lose this opportunity. With a furious shout, she stabbed her long sword right into the demon’s chest, using all her strength to break the tough skin and push as far as it would go. Thick black liquid poured from the opened slit and the Pride demon roared. The rumbling of its loud voice sounded like thunder that echoed throughout the Temple. 

The warrior apparently thrust her sword deep enough. The Pride demon flailed its arms, almost tossing the small elf from its head as it struggled. Nym jumped off, right onto a Shade to pierce its chest and kill it before landing on its spot. Ice broke apart from the Pride demon’s trashing, but it was in no state to fight any longer. It fell onto its back, pulling Cassandra with it, who was still holding onto her sword deeply thrust into the demon’s chest. Now kneeling on top of the monster, she used all her strength to push her sword all the way in, causing more pained roaring and squirming.

“Now, finish it,” Solas called out to Nym and the other elf nodded, rising his marked hand towards the fade rift once more. He felt he could close it properly now that the Pride demon was defeated. Hopefully it would banish the rest of the demons back into the fade as well.

“Help! Someone help me!”

Everyone froze in silence as they heard a voice that didn’t belong on the battlefield; a voice of a frightened woman speaking in an Orlesian accent.

* _Is this some kind of trick of the spirits!?*_ Nymrodel’s long ears twitched in confusion as he listened on. He didn’t recognize the voice, but for some reason it sounded painfully familiar.

On the other hand, the Right and Left Hands of the Devine recognized it immediately. After all, they heard it countless times when speaking to their employer and dear friend.

“Devine Justinia!?” Both Cassandra and Leliana called out in unison, their voices equally confused.

“Keep the sacrifice still!” A deep rumbling voice spoke in an icy-cold tone.

“Who…Whose voice is that,” Cassandra demanded, but they were all baffled at what they were hearing.

“Why are you doing this?! _You_ of all people!” Devine demanded an answer, but got none. The outrage and confusion was clear in her voice.

“Are these…memories? The fade is reflecting the memories of this place,” Solas assumed, believing it was the only possible explanation.

Above them, the voice continued. “What’s going on here!?”

Nym froze in place when he realized that voice belonged to him.

“So you _were_ at the Conclave. You were with Devine Justinia in her final moments! What happened, what did you see?” Cassandra demanded in a shout, piercing the elf with her dark eyes.

“Even if you ask me that…,” Nym trailed off softly. He simply couldn’t remember, he wasn’t lying about that. He couldn’t even remember this scene displayed before his own eyes right now. It was like watching a theatre play or reading a book about someone else. The whole scene was completely foreign to him.

“Please, you must warn them! Run,” the older woman yelled at Nymrodel.

“An intruder! Kill the elf!” That low voice roared angrily, completely devoid of any sympathy. It made Nym shudder. Someone was trying to kill him, but he couldn’t remember who it was. Who was in that room with him and the Devine?

The vision was over as quickly as it begun, only leaving everyone more puzzled in its wake. Nym was uncertain what to make of it all, hesitating to make a move in case another memory started.

Solas brought him of his daze with impatience in his tone, “You must close the rift now! We cannot let more spirits seep through it!”

“R-right!” Remembering their purpose, Nymrodel opened his palm and used his mark to finish the job. With a sudden burst of energy, the rift imploded and closed. The great tear in the sky, however, did not disappear.

The solders around them cheered, celebrating their victory. Even Nymrodel cracked a relieved smile now that it was all finished. “Haha…We did it,” he mumbled, feeling faint all of a sudden. With the mission over, his adrenaline slowly subsided and all strength abandoned him. Weakness and pain washed over his body and his vision blurred. He wasn’t yet used to using that mark and it drained him more than he expected. “Finally…,” he started, taking a step forward only to fall. He fell unconscious even before his head hit the ground.

“Nym!” The group called out to him in alarm as they saw the elf fall face-forward onto the hard stone.

~…..~

Nym groaned, his eyes painful from the attack of light. He blinked a couple of times, getting used to the new surroundings and trying to piece together what happened. One moment he was fighting a Pride demon and listening to weird visions, the next he was lying in bed.

Wait.

He sat up so fast he made himself dizzy. _*Where am I? What happened? What was that vision with the Devine at the Temple?!*_ His mind raced in confusion as he tried to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. Alas, it was in vain. He backtracked through his memories, replaying the last thing he remembered in his mind. He was fighting together with Lady Cassandra and the others before everything went black. He looked down, checking himself for injuries, but saw none. Even the bruises and scratches from the battle were gone, meaning the healers must’ve done their work on him while he slept.

“Ah!”

A startled yelp brought him out of his musings and he jumped, almost falling out of bed.

Nymrodel’s gaze quickly fell on the one who produced such a high-pitched scream, only to see an elf girl staring at him with her jaw slack. A ‘ _flat-ear_ ,’ some of the more malicious of the Dalish would call her, but Nym never liked using that slur. It was bad enough that other races bestowed offensive nicknames to elves, they shouldn’t be doing it to each other as well.

“Your Worship, you are awake,” she called out in surprise and dropped a wooden crate she was holding.

“My _what_ now,” Nym questioned, rising one eyebrow in bewilderment. He was never called ‘worship’ or ‘lord’ in his entire life. Creators, who would even worship him?!

As if not hearing his question, the elf continued to ramble. She fell to her knees as if in a presence of a High Lord or King of Ferelden himself.

Seeing one of his kind, probably a servant, bowing to him so low her forehead was touching the ground, Nym felt a rush of panic come over him. He waved his hands in front of him hastily, trying to get the elf off the floor.

“There’s no need for that, please!”

“Oh, I-I’m sorry, Your Worship!”

Thinking he was upset with her, the woman started apologizing, and soon both of them were flushed as they apologized to each other in earnest. It looked like some kind of scene from an Orlesian comedy, with both of them flustered and overreacting.

Finally, he got the elf girl to calm down enough to talk to him normally, but now there was an awkward atmosphere between them. She looked like she couldn’t get away from him soon enough, making him feel even guiltier. Did he do something wrong? Was it because he was still suspected of killing the Devine? _*Yes, that must be it,*_ he sighed mentally.

“What is your name?” He hoped the introductions would relax her a bit.

“A-Athelle, Your Worship,” the woman stuttered out the answer.

“Hello, Athelle. You can just call me Nym,” he tried his best to give her a gentle smile, trying to hide the fact that he was probably just as nervous as she was. “Could you tell me where I am,” he asked as polite as possible, not wanting to frighten the poor girl all over again.

“In Haven, sire. They brought you back after you sealed the rift in the sky. Lady Cassandra said to inform her at once when you awaken,” the girl explained. She scrambled to her feet, one foot already out the door.

“Ah, wait!” Nym called out to her.

“At once she said,” the girl exclaimed before she hastily opened the doors of the small cabin and rushed out.

Once again Nym was left alone with his thoughts, even more unsettled than before. _*Well I can’t blame her for not wanting to cross Lady Cassandra.*_ The warrior woman was a force to be reckoned with and her dark scowl was enough to intimidate anyone. But then he remembered how she saved him from the Pride demon. It must’ve been just in the heat of battle, but that didn’t diminish the fact that she risked her life for his.

With a grunt, still feeling sore through his bones, Nym struggled to get out of bed. He put on the clean shemlen clothes they laid out for him next to the bed and shoes…ah, the constraining leather boots; his worst enemy so far. He never wore shoes this much in his entire life, but he had no choice here. The cold and harsh terrain of the Frostback Mountains was too much for his soles to handle. He was used to the soft grass in the Free Marches’ plains, not snow and ice. 

The rogue elf opened the doors of the cabin slowly, only to be greeted by a crowd of people right outside. They all gathered in front of his cabin, whispers and murmurs softly traveling across the mob. As soon as he opened the doors, all eyes averted towards him. They were all staring, expecting… _something_. Without thinking, Nym slammed the doors shut again, hiding back inside and leaning on the doors as if trying to use his slender body to keep them closed, just in case somebody tries to break in after him. He was panting, his eyes wide, and his mind already imagining the worst case scenario.

Cold sweat started forming above his brow. “Why are they all gathered outside of my room? Perhaps today is the day I am to be judged…Am I going to be lynched? But Lady Cassandra promised me a fair trial at least,” a rush of muttered words came pouring from his mouth. _*Maybe I should try to make a break for it after all? But with all these people around and surrounded by nothing but mountains for miles, there’s no way I’d get very far,*_ he mulled over his options.  

A loud knock on his doors made him jump in surprise. A muffled voice came from outside, “Your worship? The Council is ready for you at the Chantry, ser! They sent me to escort you.”

And with that, all Nymrodel’s thoughts of escape flew out the window, along with any chances of it happening. _*I’m screwed,*_ he deadpanned, his expression darkening with realization. Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, the elf closed his eyes and steeled his resolve. “No turning back now…whatever happens, happens. May the Creators guide me,” he whispered in a soft prayer before slowly separating himself from the door. With his head held high, he opened the doors, ready to face whatever may come from the other side.

He saw one of the soldiers standing in front of him while the villagers gathered around them. “It’s him.” Once again, the whispers started. “He closed the rift!” “He was sent by the Maker to guide us!” “The one who pulled him out of the fade was certainly Andraste then! He wears the mark as proof.” “All hail the Herald of Andraste!” People spoke among themselves, bowing their heads to the unsuspecting elf.

Even the soldier in front of him kept his head low. Nym just kept staring at them in bewilderment, unsure what he was supposed to do. Nobody ever bowed down to him, especially not shemlen. Yet he didn’t feel empowered by their gesture. Instead, he was simply disturbed by it all. It just felt….unnatural. 

“Oh, so now they like me,” the elf muttered in irony, finally understanding the situation.

“Follow me, Your Worship,” the soldier called out and started guiding him down a small path covered in snow.

Nym walked slowly after the man, his gaze timidly shifting left and right, watching the villagers and soldiers. They were all gossiping about _him_.

He was led into a Chantry; a building he never thought he’d step foot into in his entire life. After all, what business would a Dalish elf have inside a Maker’s institution? The clerics inside would consider him a savage in need of ‘saving’ at best.

~…..~

All the most important people dealing with the chaos that was left after the Conclave’s destruction gathered in a dimly lit room inside the Chantry quarters. They stood around a large table that filled almost entirety of the room, a massive map of Thedas covering it.

When the doors opened, they were greeted by a peculiar guest, one who would be the furthest from one’s mind when thinking about someone named ‘Herald of Andraste.’ For starters, he was a Dalish elf, the proof of it shown in the soft brownish tattoos gracing his pale features. ‘Blood Writing,’ as most humans called them. They started at the tip of his nose and branched out on his forehead, while more subtle lines appeared beneath his eyes, along his cheekbones. One who knew more of Dalish culture would note it was the symbol of the Great Protector Mythal, the Dalish All-mother and goddess of love. Framed by his vallaslin were two large eyes as blue as crystal-clear ice, almost sparkling from their brightness. Even so, they didn’t make his gaze cold or unapproachable. Instead, there was a softness in his eyes. Complemented by his pale skin and clear eyes, was the short messy hair which was as white as snow. The elf looked rather young, his face a bit child-like or even girly with such soft features, but the air around him suggested he was far more mature than he appeared. His body was slender and lean, but hardly thin. It was well-defined for his stature, with wiry muscles rather than bulky ones. He was lithe and about as tall as Leliana, but his body was taut, obviously trained for battle; to move quickly and stealthily with ease.

“He is younger than I expected,” the human man in the room commented in slight surprise.

Nym’s eye twitched in irritation. He knew he appeared younger than he was, but he hated being reminded of it. The others in the Clan sometimes teased him for it, calling him ‘baby-faced,’ so he was rather sensitive about the subject.

“I am 21 years old and I am fully an adult,” he muttered, slightly offended, but trying to pretend he wasn’t sulking about it.

Cassandra cleared her throat as if to break the atmosphere and get on with the introductions. “May I present Commander Cullen, leader of our forces,” she gestured at the man who previously spoke. He was large and imposing, wearing heavy armor with fur gracing its collar. He literally looked like a knight in shining armor with those blond curls.  

The man chuckled at the grandstanding. “Such as they are…we lost many soldiers at the Conclave,” he sighed, his smile replaced by a frown.

“And this is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat,” Cassandra continued. The young woman was a picture of dark beauty, with tanned skin and chestnut-colored eyes. The dress she was wearing seemed a bit over-the-top with how shiny and puffy it was, but it was probably the latest fashion in Orlais. Nym was never one to follow on what was fashionable in various lands, but he wasn’t one to judge either.

The woman gave him a small polite bow. “Andaran atish’an,” she greeted.

He was taken aback by this. He didn’t expect to hear the language of Elvhenan from shems and inside a Chantry no less. “You speak elvhen?”

The ambassador gave him a sheepish smile, “You just heard the entirety of it, I’m afraid.”

He smiled brightly at her. Even if it was just one phrase, she went out of her way to greet him in a language of his People. He knew she did it out of respect for him and not mockery, so he greatly appreciated the gesture…even though her accent was a little off. “Ma serannas,” he thanked her respectfully. “It is comforting to hear my own language in these times.” _*When I’m cut off from my own People and Clan,*_ he continued in his mind. “It is a pleasure, Lady Montilyet,” he tried to greet her as politely as possible, trying hard not to offend with any gesture or word. He even made a slight bow with his head, mirroring what she did a few moments ago.

The dark beauty looked pleased with him as she smiled back, and Nym wrote it as a ‘win’ in his mind.

“And you have already met Sister Leliana, of course,” finally the Seeker gestured at the last person in the room. The redheaded woman Nymrodel fought alongside only hours ago.

“My position here involves a degree of-,” the redhead started, spinning her words and clouding them in mystery.

Unfortunately, the mysterious feel was broken as soon as Cassandra cut her off, “She is our spymaster.” As bold and upfront as always.

Nym couldn’t help but feel a bit amused when he saw Leliana’s disgruntled stare towards her friend and colleague. “Yes…Tactfully put Cassandra,” she commented with obvious sarcasm.

“It is an honor to meet all of you. Although…I am still a bit unsure _why_ I’m here,” Nymrodel started, his gaze traveling from one person in the room to the next, looking for answers from them.

The humans looked at each other as if having a mental conversation that only he couldn’t hear. Just as they were about to start their explanation, the door burst open. In came a cleric with two solders by his side. Nym remembered him as chancellor Rodrick, the one he met previously that day when they were on their way to close the Breach. Rodrick wanted to evacuate and pull back, but in the end he was overruled by Leliana and Cassandra. Nym instantly stiffened, sensing trouble. The way his luck worked lately, this _had_ to be something involving him.

“Chain him! I want him prepared for travel to the Capital for trial immediately!” The man pointed at the elf, practically sneering at him.

Nym’s gaze darted to Cassandra; after all, he was _her_ prisoner and she also told him before that he would stand trial. Will she let him be taken away, then? His big eyes must’ve looked pleading because she instantly stood between him and the chancellor.

“Disregard that and return to your posts,” she ordered the soldiers. Without a second thought, the men left the room. As soon as they were left alone once more, Cassandra continued, “The Breach is stable but still a threat. I will not ignore it.” The two glared at each other for a whole minute.

“You walk a dangerous line Seeker. Are you willing to risk your reputation...your _life_ for this elf? For a criminal?” Rodrick refused to back down.

Nym felt anger rise inside of him. His fists clenched as he gave the cleric a defiant stare. “This _elf_ has a name,” he spat out. “I did everything in my power to close the Breach, it almost killed me. In the vision it was clear that there was someone _else_ who attacked the Devine. So why am I still a suspect?” He was trying to stay as collected and reasonable as possible, but he was sick of being treated like a common criminal even after doing nothing but helping these people.

“What vision? More convenient lies I say,” the man barked back.

“It is true,” Leliana interrupted them. “Someone the Most Holy did not expect was at the Conclave. Perhaps they died with the others…or have allies who yet live,” she gave Rodrick a knowing look.

“Me? Now you’re accusing _me_?!”

“You and many others,” the redheaded spy responded.

“So the mark on his hand, his involvement at the Conclave…all a coincidence,” Rodrick asked sardonically.

“Providence. Perhaps Maker sent him in our darkest hour to guide us,” Cassandra countered.

Nym stepped back. “Wait a second. What are you saying now!? I am not some chosen prophet of the Maker.” He shook his head strongly, wanting to deny all of it.

Cassandra stepped towards him, almost pushing Rodrick away in the process. “You saw the people outside. They call you the Herald of Andraste. They believe you were chosen by Andraste to save us from the Breach…to fix this world.”

A rush of words came out of Cassandra’s mouth, but Nym could hardly hear any of it. He was in complete state of shock; confused and dazed. It was getting hard to breathe.

“Blasphemy!” The chancellor’s sudden shout brought the elf back to reality.

“It is true that the Chantry has denounced us and all of these claims…they are calling you a false prophet,” Josephine interjected with a troubled expression.

“I don’t want to be a prophet, false or true!” Nym wouldn’t have any of it.

A sudden thud made him jump and he realized Cassandra had slammed a thick book down onto the table. It bore a mark of the Chantry; a symbol of the sun. “You all know what this is; a writ of the Devine, granting us authority to act! As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn!” She walked towards the chancellor making him pull back in fear, “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible and we will restore order. With or without your approval!”

Nym could see the man was left speechless, intimidated by Cassandra and with nothing left to say that would sway her determination. Shaking his head, he gave one more dirty look to Nym which the elf returned before leaving the room and slamming the doors behind him.

“So it has begun,” Cullen broke the silence as he gazed down at the thick book.

Leliana nodded. “This is the Devine’s Directive: Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos.”

Josephine sighed, “But we are far from ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

“Yet we have no choice. We must act now, with you at our side,” she turned towards Nymrodel. “You have already become a symbol whether you like it or not.”

The elf’s lips tightened in a thin line as he thought. “I don’t know about all this speech of Andraste and the Maker…but I don’t want this Breach in the sky any more than you do.”

“Then help us, before it is too late.” Cassandra offered him her hand.

Nym stared at it for a while before he made his decision. “I don’t know anything about divine providence or whatnot. To be honest, I don’t really think it was the Maker who sent me here. But I want to help and hopefully that is enough. Not just for my sake, but for my Clan as well. If I leave now, the Chantry or others who still think I’m guilty might follow and attack…I would be putting my Clan in danger then, so I can’t return. Besides, if I turn my back on the world, I wouldn’t be able to face the Keeper and the rest of them,” he smiled faintly. With that, he took Cassandra’s hand into his and they shook hands with a firm grip.

He will need to write to the Keeper and tell her of everything that happened. That thought brought a whole new set of worries, _*Oh damn, she must be either furious or crazy with concern right now! Knowing her, it’s probably both. I need to contact her and the Clan…perhaps Lady Montilyet could help with that.*_

As if he voiced his worries out loud, the ambassador spoke, “It is a pleasure to have you with us, Master Lavellan.”

“Thank-,“ he started when he suddenly stopped and went rigid. “Wait, how do you know my Clan name? I never told you from which Clan I hail,” he eyed her suspiciously.

“Actually, a letter came to us by raven while you were resting,” she admitted with a smile. After rummaging through her papers, she finally found one small thin parchment and handed it to the elf.

Even before reading its contents, he recognized the handwriting instantly. “It’s from Keeper Desha! Um, I mean, Keeper Istimaethoriel,” he corrected, trying to sound more formal and less as an excited child. Yet he simply couldn’t hide his glee since he got news of his Clan.

“It seems they are worried we are keeping you here as a prisoner,” Josephine stated. “Perhaps you could write them back so they know you are here of your own free will. We can send one of our elven runners if that would make your clan more comfortable,” she suggested.

Nym was hardly listening to her as he read through the letter. Ironically, if he was asked if he were a prisoner here only an hour ago he would probably say yes, but now things have changed. He truly decided to stay here at Haven. He needed to remind himself of the great tear in the sky to motivate himself into staying, because reading the Keeper’s letter made him more homesick than he realized.

Nymrodel always loved exploring new things and places. He was curious since birth, the elders of the clan always said that of him. He lived for adventures, but he loved his Clan as well. Adventures were all good and exciting, but there was also something comforting in the knowledge that at the end of the day he could return back to his Clan. Sit around a warm fire with the ones he called family and listen to Keeper Desha’s stories. Ever since his immediate family died in his early years, his Clan was everything he had. It was home.

Realizing he was completely involved in his own thoughts, he quickly pulled himself back to reality. “Of course, Lady Montilyet, I’ll write a letter and give it back to you. Perhaps your people could send some supplies back to the Clan…as a sign of good faith,” he proposed.

 “That is an excellent idea. I will see to the arrangements,” Josephine smiled.

“Perhaps this would be a good time for Master Lavellan to rest and gather his thoughts, then. We can proceed with the war council once the preparations for establishing the Inquisition are complete,” Cullen suggested.

 “You know, calling me Nym is just fine,” the elf smiled nervously. All this titles like ‘ser,’ ‘master’ or ‘herald’ were starting to make him anxious.

“Master Nym, then,” Josephine suggested. Only Leliana, her old time friend, noticed the mischievous glint in her eyes as Josephine purposely, yet discretely teased him.

Nym almost choked on air. “That’s not quite what I meant…,” he started but felt too defeated to argue further.

~…..~

“So I hear you’re some big shot of Andraste now. Be sure you don’t forget the little people on your rise to the top,” Varric joked as he joined him. Nym was just heading back towards his cabin when the dwarf intercepted him.

For a second, as he gazed down at the dwarf, Nym wondered whether the ‘little people’ part was an intentional, yet cheesy joke or not. He sighed, “You know what they say; _the higher you climb, the further you fall._ So I’d rather stay right here on the ground,” he gave his new friend a toothy grin.

“Smart man,” the dwarf smirked.

They walked together through Haven and Nym tried his best to ignore all the stares directed his way. They were different than before, when the villagers of Haven watched him follow Cassandra as a prisoner. At that time most of them wanted to execute him on the spot, yet now he could see those same people watching him as if he was a walking miracle. Oh, how easily a person’s heart can change.

“So tell me…now that we’re alone and Cassandra is out of earshot; How are you holding up?” Varric continued, “You go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.”

Nym was taken by surprise by his question. It’s true, he had been through a lot lately, yet Varric was the only one who actually asked him how he was doing through all of this. Since all this started, nobody asked him what _he_ wanted or how he was handling everything. He knew such thoughts were childish since they all had more important problems to address, but he still greatly appreciated that Varric took the time to show concern. He felt grateful to the man, for this small kindness the other showed him. He opened his mouth to respond, only for a loud rumbling sound to cut him off. The elf flushed bright red, feeling hot from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. His stomach sounded loud enough for even passersby to hear. That’s when Nym realized he hadn’t eaten anything since before the Conclave. Until now, so much happened that he couldn’t even think about food, but now that his adrenaline has faded, his body was loudly protesting such careless treatment.

Varric laughed loudly, even more amused by the flushed expression Nymrodel showed. “I didn’t think you’d answer me with your stomach.” His laughter finally died out to small chuckles. He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye before he led the elf to the Haven’s Tavern called the Singing Maiden. “Come on Snow, let’s get you fed.”

“Snow?” Nym questioned as he followed after the dwarf. He would follow just about anyone right now if they promised him food. He was starving.

“Yeah, cause you’re all white. I bet if we tossed you here in the snow, you’d blend right in. We wouldn’t even be able to find you,” the dwarf teased him light-heartedly.

“That…could be pretty useful actually,” the elf tilted his head in thought. “Good for camouflage,” he joked.

The two chatted cheerfully on their way to the Tavern.

* * *

 Glossary:

_Evanuris lasa ma enansal_ -   Creators bless you! (literally; Creators give you blessing)

_Andaran atish’an_ \- Enter this place in peace. A formal elven greeting.

_Ma serannas_ – My thanks/Thank you.

 

* * *

 

Thank you all for reading! Constructive criticism is always welcome. :)


	2. Clan Lavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So in this one, we learn more about Clan Lavellan and Nym's past. I want to give my Inquisitor a bit more of a background than he has in the game and show where his skills/fighting abilities come from. Also, it's really fun to write about the Clan~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, chapter two is here!  
> I don't know if I should name my chapters...I'm never good at giving titles. :/

 

Once the Official Decree of the Inquisition's formation was established, things only got busier around Haven. Cullen, Josephine and Leliana formed a War Council which Nym regularly attended, but it usually consisted of the trio arguing in circles until the elf finally had enough and made a final decision, or if the arguments got too heated, threatened he would call in Cassandra to make order. That usually shut them up quickly. Nowadays, their biggest disagreement was whether to call the Templars or Mages for help with the Breach, but neither side would even acknowledge them yet. The Inquisition was still simply too small of an organization to matter while the war was raging.

The elf was grateful for the three advisors, however. He was completely lost in all the politics, war strategies and hidden ploys or subterfuge, and they were the only ones who could help him make sense of it all. Even if their methods varied and they usually disagreed on them, they all gave valuable input and advice he could use in his decisions. Nevertheless, the fact that the weight of every decision rested on him, along with the responsibility for the consequences, didn't evade him. In the end, he has become the symbol for the Inquisition despite his loud protesting and he had to carry all the people's hopes, fears or hate that was cast his way. The more work they did, the more recognized they became. People either despised or loved the Inquisition, but nobody was indifferent towards it. Most people were still suspicious and doubtful of this newly formed order and as their ambassador put it, it was mainly Nym's job to change that. He only knew one way they could get the people on their side – by doing good work. They needed to help the refugees and other unfortunate people who found themselves trapped between the warring mages and templars.

That was partly the reason why they were here now; Hinterlands. Nymrodel would think the place was charming with its vast forests, winding creeks and small villages…if not for the raging chaos all around. Farms were burning, the forest animals were fleeing from all the disturbance, people's screams of terror and pain echoed throughout the lands and both mages and templars were fighting everywhere.

Both sides were completely indiscriminate about who they attacked, as if the bloodlust had driven them mad. Dead bodies of innocent refugees and farmers littered the ground together with the dead apostates and crazed templars. These were neither the templars who wanted to restore order nor the rebel mages who fought for freedom. Those two factions already rejoined their leaders after the Conclave's destruction and were now lying in wait for new orders. These were only stragglers, who defied the orders to retreat and already abandoned their cause. They were just cruel thugs who wanted nothing but to pillage and kill whoever is unlucky enough to cross their path.

"Why are they attacking, we are obviously not mages!?" Cassandra shouted in fury as they were ambushed by a group of rogue templars as soon as they arrived on King's Road.

Their main objective was to reach a Revered Mother called Giselle for apparently she could help them quell the animosity towards the Inquisition that came from the Chantry. Nym, on the other hand, found it hard to believe a chantry mother was willing to help them when the whole Chantry denounced the Inquisition and called him a heretic. But if there was a chance she could truly help, he would take it, and he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"I do not think they care, Seeker," Solas called out in response to Cassandra's question, before he cast a fireball right into one of the Templar archers.

"These templars are nothing but criminals and the apostates here are no better. It's like they all went mad because of this war," Nym growled angrily, seeing bodies of innocent people sprawled on the roadside. The farmhouses were ablaze, crackling in the light breeze as the wooden walls collapsed under the heat. The whole area was destroyed, with even the roads scorched with fire or glazed with magical ice. There were similar signs of battle everywhere.

As if in response, a particularly large Templar warrior appeared before the small elf. He was attired in heavy armor with a helmet covering his face, only showing two piercing eyes that stared emotionlessly at the elf. Instead of the usual Templar shield, the man only had a large sword that he held with both hands covered in gauntlets. His armor shined on the daytime sun, the rays reflecting off it in pure white. Nym would think it looked beautiful, if not for the murderous bloodlust in those eyes.

This time, though, Nymrodel was fully prepared for battle. The Inquisition provided both armor and weapons for him. Josephine went so far to request Dalish scout armor, which was fairly similar to the one he used while traveling with Clan Lavellan. The best part was, he didn't need to wear shoes anymore, and instead had sole covers with his toes bare. He felt like he could move ten times freer and quicker without those constraining things on his feet. His weapons got an upgrade as well. He replaced those old daggers he found with two lazurite dual daggers of much finer quality. They even had carved ornaments on the handle guard, and after the handle was a secondary, shorter blade beneath it. It made it easier to fight, knowing he could use the dagger from either side.

The large Templar came at him. Nymrodel ran towards him and just as the Templar raised his sword high above his head, Nym jumped and used both his feet to kick the man hard in the chest. With the elf's whole weight into the stomp, even as light as he was, he sent the Templar stumbling to the ground. A loud clunk resounded as the heavy armor hit the cobblestone road.

Nym fell too, but didn't waste even a second on the ground. As soon as his back hit the dirt, he somersaulted backwards, his hands pushing him off the ground and he landed back on his feet. In the middle of the spin, he unsheathed his two daggers so he'd be ready to leap towards the man as soon as both his feet were on the ground. Without missing a beat, he charged forward, now armed.

The Templar struggled too long to get to his feet because of the heavy armor he was burdened with. He barely had time to rise to his knees, scrambling for his sword in the dirt, but by then the small elf was already on him. He managed to swing his sword, still on his knees, to block the first dagger that was aimed at his neck. Unexpectedly, the other weapon never came. Instead, the elf passed him during his attack so that he was behind him crouching, back to back. Nym didn't even have to look at his target as he spun to get more force and stabbed behind him with the second dagger. It went right into the other's neck where there was neither armor nor helmet. The blade pierced the back of the neck, the tip traveling all the way to the other side. A gurgling sound came from the man as he choked on his own blood. Nymrodel straightened up as his opponent fell face-first into the dirt.

He scanned the area to see how his companions were faring. He always had to have a good idea of the battlefield, in case some of the others needed assistance. After all, his role was supporting the warriors like Cassandra by giving them openings in the enemy's guard or keeping the mages safe when they provided covering fire. Rather than hand to hand combat with brute strength, he always preferred a stealthier approach. Considering his stature, he used his small frame to move quickly through enemy lines and hit them from the shadows when they least expected it. He used speed and precision strikes to his advantage, just as he was trained long ago by his mentor.

Cassandra was just finishing by stabbing a rebel mage through the stomach, while Varric's strong bolts flew past her head to hit a rogue Templar behind her. The woman turned around in surprise, then snorted at Varric's satisfied expression as he yelled, "You're welcome, Seeker!" back at her. Meanwhile, Solas made sure they were all well-protected, now and then slowing down the enemies with ice or burning the Templars with fire. Even their thick armor wasn't impervious to fireballs.

"I see refugees ahead," the elven mage called out, pointing passed the King's Highway to the area known as The Crossroads.

"That is where Mother Giselle should be," Cassandra answered, giving Nym a knowing look.

"We should hurry before more enemies come," the elf noted, giving a signal to move out.

As they walked towards what looked like a small village that has turned into a refugee settlement, Nymrodel turned to the Seeker. "Are you sure this Mother Giselle can help us? She is part of the Chantry, after all, and they hate us…or at least me," he muttered the last part with a wary expression.

"Mother Giselle was always known throughout the Chantry for two things; her charity work and her rather unconventional thoughts of what the Chantry should represent. It made her unpopular with other clerics, but she is loved and respected by the people," Cassandra responded. It seemed the Right Hand of the Devine also had a high opinion of this Revered Mother.

Nym chuckled. "A rebel Mother? Well then, she'll fit right in with us misfits," he joked.

Beside them, Varric laughed as well. "That sounds like something that should be in one of my books.  _'A rebel Mother fighting the injustices of the world with Faith_ ,'" he spoke dramatically as if reading the synopsis of his new book.

"Do not mock her!" Cassandra yelled at both of them, quickly putting the men back in their place.

"We're not! I rather like how that sounds. I like her more than Chancellor Rodrick already," Nym admitted with a grin.

"As if that's difficult," the dwarf muttered in a sardonic tone.

"Ugh," Cassandra made a disgusted noise, fighting against the rising need to roll her eyes at these two. Ever since Nymrodel was exonerated for the crime of killing the Devine and was slowly getting used to the whole Inquisition and the people in it, he started revealing more of his true nature. He was more relaxed now, but his personality was usually light-hearted and laid-back. What's more, Varric's influence on the elf was just making it worse and Cassandra did not approve. It was enough to have to deal with one version of Varric, but two would be unbearable.

As they approached the site, Nym could see many injured lying on bed rolls while healers or mages helped them recover. Some of the injured were soldiers, but others were civilians who just got involved in the crossfire. Even so, the healers helped everyone equally. Whether they were a templar, mage, or refugee, everyone were given the treatment they needed. Nym had no doubt it was Mother Giselle's influence, since Cassandra had told him the Revered Mother took these people under her wing and helped bring some peace and comfort to them. Even if the Chantry was in disarray, most of the people here were believers of the Maker and faithful followers of the Chantry, meaning Mother Giselle had their respect and trust. They heeded her and she used that influence to establish some peace and prosperity back to Hinterlands. Even if Nym wasn't a believer in the Maker, he could respect that. One didn't have to be Andrastian to see Mother Giselle was doing good work with these people.

He found the older woman clad in Chantry robes soothing an injured soldier. She was gently urging the man to let go of his fears and accept the help of a healer mage.

"Their magic is turned to noble purpose. It is surely no more evil than your blade," the woman spoke before the solder could protest further.

Nym was a bit surprised by her stance on the matter, but not because he didn't agree. On the contrary, he too believed that magic is simply a tool like any other that could be used to either hurt people or protect them.

Growing up in a Dalish Clan, where mages weren't treated as monsters just because they possessed the gift, he didn't have any prejudice towards them. After all, his late mother was a mage and a talented Keeper before her untimely death. While she lived, she showed Nymrodel exactly how brave and kind mages could be. She taught her Clan to be wary of magic, but never to fear or hate someone simply because they possessed the power. So he tried his best to follow in her path and live with an open mind, wanting to understand others even if they had different views than him. Of course, that came with exceptions. When it came to evil deeds or blood magic, he had no compromise to give.

He drew closer to the woman until she noticed him. Instantly she seemed to recognize who he was and walked over to his group.

"Herald of Andraste, I presume," she greeted.

Nym grimaced at the title, but tried to hide it. He was still not used to it and honestly, he didn't want to get used to it. He expected her to be surprised at least, seeing an elf who many now called the Herald of Andraste, despite his wishes, but her gaze remained calm.

"And you must be Mother Giselle," he gave a small nod in greeting. He was eyeing her, still trying to figure her out.

"Come. Walk with me," the woman gestured for them to move and the two strolled down the village path alone. His group stayed behind, giving them some privacy and helping the refugees by handing out supplies and whatever else they could do for the poor people.

"I must admit, I am a bit confused…You called me here knowing the Chantry disapproves of me," it was a statement, rather than a question.

The woman chuckled, seemingly unfazed by his confusion. "Yes, I am familiar with the Chantry's denouncement and those behind it. Some of them are simply terrified of you while others want to use you as a scapegoat and rise to power…become the new Devine," she explained. It was nothing Nym didn't already expect from them, so her words hardly came as a surprise.

"But you want to help me," Nym asked with a raised eyebrow. This time it was a question, with an undertone of suspicion to it.

"With the Devine gone, we are each left with our own moral path to follow. We must do what we think is right. I do not claim to know whether you were truly sent by the Maker or Andraste, but I can see the Inquisition is helping the people when so many others are not. So I want to help the Inquisition in return," she said honestly. "That is why I believe you should go to them...show them you are not the demon they all fear," she suggested.

He didn't sense any falsehoods in what she was saying. He didn't think she was trying to lay a trap for him, but it still sounded like a risky plan. Go to the very people who wanted to harm him? Nym might take high risks sometimes, but he was hardly suicidal. "Even if I talk to them, I don't see why they would believe anything I say. It's more likely they'll just try to imprison me…or execute me on the spot."

The Mother smiled, undeterred by his skepticism. "Let me put it this way; you needn't convince them all, you just need some to  _doubt_. If I thought you incapable, I wouldn't suggest it," she added.

He raised one eyebrow and smirked. "Oh, how sly. Are you trying to convince me by complimenting me?"

She chuckled at his teasing tone. "I am glad your circumstances hadn't rid you of your sense of humor. It is a good way to cope when dire days come," she commented with amusement.

"I think they've come already, Revered Mother," he muttered with disdain.

Giselle smiled. "Remember, the power of those who oppose you is in their unified voice. Take that from them and you will receive the time you need to build up your Inquisition."

Nym nodded. He hadn't decided yet, but it was definitely something to consider. As much as the Inquisition was willing to help, it was hard to do so when the Chantry's voices kept calling them heretics and betrayers, turning the very people they were trying to help against them. Perhaps gaining the Chantry's support was impossible, but they would at least need to stop them from tarnishing the Inquisition's reputation.

_*Creators, when did my life started revolving around things like 'reputation' and 'Chantry religion',*_  the elf questioned himself. Ah yes, when that blasted mark appeared and he started glowing green. He looked back up at the woman cleric before him. "To be honest, you aren't what I expected when I first heard a Chantry Mother wanted to speak with me," he admitted.

She chuckled at his confession. "Then what did you expect? A frail old woman who only sings the Chant of Light and follows it to the letter?" She didn't seem offended.

He shrugged in answer. "Well considering the rest of the Chantry pretty much hates me, I'd say you're quite unique. Not in a bad way!" He quickly added the last part, not wanting to offend her.  _*Gah, I really do have a big mouth. Just stop talking, Nym!*_ Yet despite himself, he continued, "In any case, I just wanted to say; Thank you for doing this."

She watched him carefully and for a second he thought he really did offend her, but then she spoke again. "You have the potential to make this Inquisition a great power that can be used to bring hope to people, save them…or a power that will destroy us all. I cannot say yet how it will turn out, but that is why I wanted to speak to you personally. I wanted to see you, Herald, with my own eyes and decide where to stand. And I have decided; I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana with the names of those in the Chantry who will be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do whatever I can." She gave him a knowing look before turning to help a man sitting beside the road. He had a broken leg and couldn't walk to the healers on his own, so the woman gave him her shoulder as support as she slowly led him to the mages.

Nym realized he rather liked this woman. She didn't blindly follow rumors or chose a side from which she could benefit the most. She invited him here to see what kind of man he was and decide for herself whether he was a worthy ally. He found that a respectable attitude. At least leagues better than the rest of her ilk who pointed accusatory fingers at him out of principle alone. He smiled at her back kindly as he watched her leave, deciding to heed her words of wisdom.

~…..~

"I can't believe you never played Wicked Grace before," Varric exclaimed with such a shocked expression, Nym finally realized the talent for the dramatic this writer had.

They were sitting in The Singing Maiden, just finishing their lunch, when Varric turned the topic to Wicked Grace. When Nym told him he never actually played the card game, the dwarf insisted he would teach him.  _“How will we otherwise spend all those nights in camp,”_  he had said.

And so there they were, sitting at a small wooden table in the corner, with just enough room for the cards. Nym was focusing hard, trying to master all the basics. He looked at his hand, frowning at only one matching pair of Serpents. He discarded a card and drew on more. He was getting better at this…probably.

"Isn't this supposed to be played with more people? Isn't it more fun that way?" He tilted his head, looking at the dwarf over his cards.

"Yeah, so you better recruit more of them soon, Snow, or this will get boring real quick," Varric teased. "Besides, this is hardly  _playing_. More like I'm teaching you so you don't lose your breeches the next time we play for real."

"Of course, that's why we're recruiting; so you can have more people to take money from in Wicked Grace," the elf quipped, making the dwarf grin in return. "We could ask Cassandra to join us," he proposed. They already asked Solas, but the ever-so-serious mage said he didn't 'gamble,' although this was hardly gambling when they had nothing to stake anyway. Nym was simply playing for fun.

"Hah! She would just get annoyed and end up stabbing the cards," the dwarf shook his head, he's face turning sour for a second.

Nym sighed. He really wished those two would get along better, considering they were fighting out in the field together every day. They watched out for each other when battling demons and other enemies, but they couldn't spend one minute in each other's company without bickering. "Will you two ever get along? You're on the same side and you're fighting for the same goal. You'd think you could leave your differences aside since you have so much in common," he commented dryly.

" _Cassandra_  and me have much in common? Right, and there are no blood mages in Tevinter," the dwarf retorted with sarcasm.

Nym raised an eyebrow. He was certain Cassandra would act the same way Varric did if Nym told her this. Perhaps without the Tevinter part. "Well you have one thing in common; you're both equally stubborn," he muttered, giving up. "We could ask Josephine then. She looks like someone who would be really good at this game," he continued.

"Ruffles? Oh, you can bet on it. You have a long way to go before you can play as her equal, Snow. She'd clean you out until you're in nothing but your loincloth," Varric teased.

"Ruffles," Nym chuckled at the nickname. He did hear Varric use it a couple of times now. The dwarf gave everyone nicknames. He wasn't sure if he ever heard him address anyone by their real name so far, except Cassandra.

"Well yeah, did you see her dresses? She's practically swimming in them," Varric joked.

True. The first thing Nym noticed when meeting the ambassador was something similar; the puffy golden dress. But the woman actually pulled it off, even though he was sure it would look ridiculous on anyone else. He smirked at the thought. That train of thought led him to her friend and colleague Leliana, and then back to his last conversation with the spymaster.

"Speaking of recruiting, we might get some help from the Grey Wardens. Or at least some information….they've been acting strange lately. Leliana says they completely disappeared, except for one Warden named Blackwall who is supposed to be in the Hinterlands. You up for some more camping tomorrow," he grinned, already knowing the answer.

The roguish dwarf smiled, "I better bring my deck of cards then." The Angel of Death card turned up from the deck and Varric revealed his hand. He had a pair of matching suits in Knights and Angels. The elf groaned in disappointment, showing his own hand that was undoubtedly weaker. The dwarf laughed as he gathered the cards to shuffle them again. "Good thing we're not playing for money, Snow."

"I agree. I was never good at bluffing," he sighed.

"So Grey Wardens, huh?" Still shuffling, Varric returned to their previous topic. Before Nym's shameful loss, that is. "I met some of them in Kirkwall. Hawke's younger brother, Carver, became one of them. They helped us out during the Qunari uprising. I think they're pretty good people…if somewhat secretive and downright strange," he added with a grimace. Seems Varric didn't know what to make of them.

"Oh right, I read about it in the Tale of the Champion. You know, I've been meaning to tell you…some of the things in there don't quite make sense," the elf started.

"If this is about Orsino, I don't want to hear it! I've already gotten hundreds of readers' letters about this subject and for the last time; I don't  _know_  why the guy went crazy and suddenly decided to use blood magic! I never claimed to understand the guy, I just wrote what happened," Varric rambled in annoyance that was bordering with anger. He was starting to get red in the face.

Lavellan could feel sweat form on his brow as he watched Varric lose it. The dwarf was clearly worked up about this topic.  _*Note to self, never ask Varric about the Kirkwall's late First Enchanter,*_  he concluded then and there. Deciding it was safest to change the subject, Nym stayed on the Grey Wardens course. "In that case, couldn't you write to Hawke's brother and ask him what's happening with the Wardens? Leliana seems worried about this a lot…apparently she's good friends with the Hero of Ferelden and she has gone missing too."

"So I've heard," the storyteller muttered, as his expression turned darker. He was troubled by something. "But the Grey Wardens aren't so easy to find or contact. They don't really share with the outside world  _what_  they're doing and they move a lot and go off on their missions. So right now I have no idea where Carver is. I'm surprised Nightingale even managed to track down this Blackwall fellow, but I guess that tells you a lot about our Spymaster."

"I guess this Warden Blackwall is our best bet then," Nym shrugged.

"I hope he's better at Wicked Grace than you at least," the dwarf teased, and the elf gave him a dirty look in return.

~…..~

Warden Blackwall was hardly what Nym expected and Leliana seemed just as surprised by the man…or suspicious at least. Then again, she was suspicious of most people, especially outside of the Inquisition. Unfortunately, they didn't learn anything useful about the Wardens' disappearance, but instead they gained a new ally. Blackwall insisted he join the Inquisition to help with the Breach and Nymrodel had no reason to refuse.

After a talk he had with the Warden, Nymrodel didn't have a feeling he was a bad man. A bit rough around the edges maybe, but his heart was in the right place. He wanted to restore peace to the lands, just like the elf. Still, he didn't talk much and he kept to himself. He seemed a bit of a loner, but Nym guessed the man just wanted his privacy. In that regard, he wasn't that different from Solas who also preferred solitude.

Nym, on the other hand, found that a bit troubling. His Clan wasn't big, but they were all close to one another like a large family. They appreciated skinship and openness with each other, to build trust and respect. That's why he wanted to get to know his comrades better if he was to fight beside them, but it was harder than he thought. They all had their own ideals and beliefs, and often bickered with each other. It felt like the only common ground they had was wanting to close the Breach, but beyond that they didn't have much interest in each other. Only Varric and Nymrodel would go out of their way to properly get to know the others.

Nym asked Blackwall about the Grey Wardens hoping to shed some light on the mysterious Order, but the man wasn't much help - apart from telling him you need to 'Stick the Archdemon with a Grey Warden sword in order to kill it.' Asking about his personal life bore even less fruit as he proved even more evasive about it. He did feel he knew the human a bit better after their conversation, but not much really.

However, Blackwall wasn't the only ally they secured in Hinterlands. Where they had little luck with the Wardens, they had more with acquiring new mounts together with a skilled horsemaster. Master Dennet decided to join the Inquisition, supplying proper care for their new chargers. The number of the Inquisition's mounts was quickly rising and they were all in excellent shape thanks to Dennet. Nym was even so lucky to get a Red Hart to ride through the Hinterlands, a magnificent horned creature he hasn't seen in a while. His clan rode and cared for the Halla, so they only had one Hart and it was quite old by now. Lillin was hardly meant for riding anymore.

The elf blinked a few times, pulling himself back to reality. He was currently sitting at the desk in his cottage, staring at the piece of paper in front of him. His cabin was simple, barely furnished, but provided Nym with everything he would need. He didn't need much to begin with, although it felt weird to sleep on a bed. He always slept on a fur bedroll on the ground or inside the aravel if it got too cold.

He decided to write to Keeper Deshanna again as they corresponded regularly now. The Inquisition already smoothed things out with Clan Lavellan when Nymrodel sent the first letter, but he knew how easily she worried. Especially for him. He knew she fretted over him more because of everything that happened when he was a child, which only made him guiltier every time he made her worry.

The letter in front of him was half-finished. He mostly wrote about the work Inquisition was doing in Hinterlands. He told her how they rooted out the renegade templars and rogue mages in the area, and were slowly taking back the Hinterlands, making them livable again. The Inquisition's influence was slowly rising and the refugees could feel it. He didn't go into detail of all the dangers he faced while doing so, knowing that would only upset her.

He realized the letter was getting rather lengthy and decided to finish it quickly,  _'All in all, the Inquisition is doing good work and everyone is treating me nicely here.'_ Indeed, he only heard them call him 'knife-ear' once and it was behind his back. But that was still at the beginning and he didn't hear that slur in a long while now.  _'I also met a friend who is looking out for me. His name is Varric and he is many things, but mostly a storyteller. I think Old Maven would like him. They could exchange stories.'_ Nym smiled at the thought of the old elf, one of the hahren of the clan - an elder. He would gather everyone around the campfire at night, especially children, and tell long forgotten tales for hours. His storytelling would transport the children into a marvelous world and they would completely forget the cold of the night or the poor hunt the clan had that day. Nymrodel grew up listening to Old Maven's stories. Perhaps that was why he felt so comfortable with Varric.

' _Keep the Clan safe and don't worry about me. I will see you all again once this is over,'_  he promised in writing, but then wondered if that was truly a promise he could keep. He had no idea how this will all end or will he even survive after using the mark to close the Breach. Last time he fell unconscious from exhaustion. Finally he ended the letter with  _'Sule sal harthir, Nymrodel Feynvin Lavellan.'_  He stared at his Parent Name for a while, finally crossing it out and leaving the signature with _'Nymrodel Lavellan.'_

Quickly rising to his feet, the elf practically jogged to the Chantry building, looking for the Ambassador since all his letters went through her. She didn't read them, respecting his privacy, but she was in charge of making contact as the Inquisition's liaison.

He knocked on the doors a few times, patiently waiting for the voice on the other side to grant him access. When she did, Nym entered the ambassador's office, looking around the quaint room. He had only been here a couple of times to talk to either Josephine or the researcher Minaeve, who she sometimes shared her office with.

"Oh, Master Lavellan," Josephine looked a bit flustered as if he just caught her in the middle of something. A troubled expression flashed across her face, but was soon replaced by her usual professional smile. "What can I do for you today?"

He handed her the letter. "I wrote to Keeper Istimaethoriel again. If you could send it to her like you did with the others, I would appreciate it," he answered, all the while studying Josephine's expression. "Is…something the matter," he decided to ask directly.

She took the letter, but her worried expression returned as if it only reminded her of something unpleasant. She averted her eyes sadly before looking up at the elf again. "Actually, it concerns Clan Lavellan…and you specifically," she confessed.

Nymrodel's light-grey eyebrows furrowed.  _*Oh no,*_  his mind already started imagining the worst case scenario. Did someone want to take revenge on him through his Clan? Were they attacked? He knew there were still many people who thought he was guilty for the destruction at the Conclave, and many more who didn't approve of an elf calling himself the Herald of Andraste. Not that  _he_  called himself that and he never would in a million years. "What happened, Lady Montilyet?"

She bit her lip. "Malcontents have been spreading rumors about you and your Clan lately…they aren't pretty. They are quite revolting and complete nonsense, of course! The stories about wild Dalish elves have only become more outrageous after you appeared," she admitted.

At first, Nym felt relief. It wasn't good news but it was hardly the problem he expected. Rumors he could deal with. But then he realized such rumors could only bring more animosity towards Dalish elves everywhere, including Clan Lavellan. It would hardly make their lives easier. His frown stayed as he sked, "What kind of rumors exactly?"

The ambassador seemed hesitant to answer. She probably felt uncomfortable repeating them right to the Herald's face. After a while, Nym's trained gaze on her wore her down and she relented. "Stealing children, selling peasants to slavers, burning down villages, using infants for blood magic…and those are just the stories of your fellow Dalish. I won't repeat what they say about you concretely," she sighed.

As she spoke, Nym's expression grew darker by every example she gave. He grit his teeth, his lips tightening in a thin line. "Where in the Beyond do they find the source to spin those ridiculous tales," he muttered. "At least they're creative, I'll give them that. Although it's hardly something my people aren't used to by now," he answered with a humorless smile.

"You faced such rumors before?" Josephine's eyes widened in slight surprise.

"Not just rumors. Blatant attacks of ignorant or frightened shemlen who were scared the 'savage' Dalish elves on their lands would come and hunt them in the night. So they would attack our Clan. It didn't happen often, but only because our Keeper is wise enough to know how to deal with humans or stay a safe distance when necessary. The worst incident was when we were camping near Ansburg. I was 13 at the time. A noble there didn't like us near his lands so he paid off a group of Templars from Ansburg to ' _deal'_  with us," Nym spat the words. "It was too late to flee by the time our scouts noticed them so we had to stay and fight them off."

By now, Josephine was so involved in the story, she completely forgot why she brought up those rumors to begin with. "Oh my goodness, what happened?"

Even Minaeve, who was previously working on her research and hardly paying attention, raised her head from her books to listen with mild interest.

Surprisingly, Nym gave her a faint smile, as he reminisced on an important story from his past. A story that seemed like ancient history to him now.

**\- 8 years ago –**

Three elves carefully drew closer to the body lying on the ground. All three of them had different markings on their faces and were armed by ironbark bows and everite daggers. Members of Clan Lavellan. The Clan was currently camping north of Ansburg in the Free Marches and had been there for a couple of weeks. In all that time they only had one run-in with humans - a merchant caravan - but those shemlen were kind and even traded goods with the elves. However, things were different today. Following a deer deeper into the forest, the three elves stumbled upon a bleeding man lying in the middle of a narrow overgrown path. They didn't quite know what to make of this sight before them.

"A shem," the first stated in a whisper.

"A corpse?" The only woman of the three guessed, uncertain whether the man was even alive. She was a woman with braided red hair and Sylaise's vallaslin, known as Brilwyn. She was a healer of the Clan and came out to the forest to gather herbs when she met her two friends on her way.

The third one was the youngest and the boldest among them, so he jumped onto the path, ignoring the sharp protests of his two comrades. He cautiously pulled closer, careful not to step into the pool of blood that spilled around the body. He examined the mysterious man and turned to his two companions. "He still breathes," Lemren informed them.

The two joined him on the path and the elves stared down at the unconscious man at their feet. The woman crouched next to the body, turning him over. There was a deep gash on the man's side which was bleeding profoundly. There were other wounds on him too, bruises and cuts, but that was the only life-threatening one. "If he is not treated soon, he will die."

"Falon'Din take him then! He is not our problem," the oldest of them, Gelen, grumbled darkly. He was the warleader of Clan Lavellan, mostly in charge of the clan's security.

"That is not our choice to make, it is the Keeper's. We must inform her of this," Brilwyn countered.

Gelen grunted at her proposal. "You are too kind for your own good, Brilwyn, but so be it. Lemren, you are the fastest among us, run to Keeper Deshanna and tell her we found an injured shemlen in the woods," he ordered.

The young man nodded, Andruil's dark green vallaslin shining a brighter color on the sunlight that cut through the trees. In an instant, he rose to his feet and sprinted through the forest, skillfully jumping over any obstacle on his way. The two watched after him as he disappeared.

"I will start treating his wounds," Brilwyn announced, taking out an elfroot salve and some clean cloth. "I don't want him dying on us in the meantime."

Gelen snorted. "Yes, that would be awful," he muttered sarcastically, but the redhead only gave him a warning stare in return. "Alright, alright. We saw a river nearby, I'll get you some fresh water to clean his wounds."

She smirked, "That's more like it. Ma serannas, vhenan."

She could still hear Gelen muttering in disapproval under his breath as he walked back into the forest. She only smiled when she heard him repeat that she was 'too kind for her own good.' He was always such a worrywart, especially when it came to her. Then again, it was one of the things she loved about him. She looked down at the sleeping human, his mouth covered in blood where he coughed it up. He was still breathing, but barely.

By the time Lemren returned with more people and the First, Brilwyn and Gelen managed to stop the bleeding. The First to the Keeper used a healing spell to rejuvenate the human's body somewhat, but one simple spell was hardly enough to heal him entirely. He was far too injured for that and needed further treatment from the Clan's healers. Lucky for him, Keeper Istimaethoriel decided that the shemlen would be brought back to the camp and his wounds treated.

~…..~

"You cannot be serious, Keeper!" A small elven boy shouted loudly, uncaring that the rest of the Clan could hear him. Some heads turned towards the aravel where Keeper Deshanna was sitting, patiently listening to the raving white-haired boy in front of her. His features were a bit girly and he looked younger than his 13 years of age. His bare face was twisted in anger as he argued with the Clan's leader. "Taking in that shem is too dangerous! What if he turns on us when he recovers? Or tells other shemlen about us and they come to pillage our Clan?"

The young woman, whose gaze appeared much wiser than one would expect from someone her age, patiently listened to the boy, but gave him a saddened look when he finished. She wasn't angry, but pitied the elven boy instead. Nymrodel had changed so much from the adventurous, kind and bright child he used to be. Now, he was jaded and suspicious towards outsiders even more than the rest of the Clan. Deshanna understood exactly where that change came from, and she knew she couldn't help him overcome what happened to him. That fateful day left a scar on his heart as well as the ones on his back, and it changed his very soul.

His mother, the late Keeper, used to say that the Clan should not isolate themselves from the rest of the world.  _'We are all a part of the same world and we should all find a way to live in harmony_ ,' she believed. She was idealistic and warmhearted, and she taught her family to be the same, but now Nymrodel has forgotten that. When his mother gave her life protecting the Clan from a darkspawn attack, she left behind a father with two sons of no more than 6 years of age. Their father was a scatterbrain even before their mother's death, but after it, he never recovered. He withdrew into himself, practically forgetting he had two young twin boys to raise. Nymrodel and Seiriadel were mostly left to fend for themselves, but the whole Clan helped them out. Yet even then, Nym stayed a hopeful child, although overprotective of his twin brother. But the day Nym lost both his father and his brother in such a despicable way…that was what truly changed him. Even though 2 years have already passed since then, the boy simply couldn't recover and the two scars on his back were a constant reminder.

Taking a deep breath, the woman started, "Listen, da'len, I am perfectly aware of the risks. But that man is hardly a danger to the whole clan with the state he is in. He was alone and dying. How could I face Mythal in the Beyond one day, if I turned my back on the weak and defenseless who needed my help," she said with a gentle tone filled with patience - one she used when teaching the children of the Clan.

"But you do not know this shem's intentions. How do you know he is some weak and innocent traveler," Nym countered with a glare. Deshanna's words were falling on deaf ears.

"I do not know if he is innocent or not. Perhaps he is not even a good person. In that case, we have our hunters to deal with him. Do not worry, da'len, I will personally get rid of him or escort him out of the Clan if he proves to be a threat."

Nymrodel clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Fen'Harel ma ghilana," he hissed.

Her eyebrow twitched in irritation at that. He was being far too disrespectful for her liking, but she was letting it slide for now. "So you would simply let him die in the dirt?" She countered with a stern question, her big forest-green eyes narrowed.

He was taken aback by her words, but after a short pause he answered with a short "Yes."

"Lies. Ma harel, da'len," she called his bluff. He was always bad at lying, even if he wanted to pretend his heart has turned to stone. But Deshanna believed the gentle child she once knew was still somewhere inside of him, wanting to be let out. "You mistake kindness for weakness; that is not the way Merrinne, our previous Keeper and  _your mother_ , had taught us." She knew bringing up his mother was a low blow, but hoped it would shake him up enough to perhaps make him remember who he once aspired to be.

A pang of guilt and hurt shot through the boy's heart. He swallowed a lump forming in his throat, but then hardened his resolve and glared at her. "You are making a mistake, Keeper! That shem is dangerous and you will regret bringing him in here. You have brought danger upon our Clan," he bit back before jumping off the aravel and running into the forest, without looking back at the curious elves that followed him with their stares. He could feel Deshanna's sorrowful gaze burning on his back, but ignored it. Glancing back at her would only hurt him further.

~…..~

It was already nightfall when Nymrodel got tired of roaming the forest and returned to the camp. Most of the others were fast sleep around the camp fire that burned out until only a few lit cinders were left.

While wandering around and exploring the woods, Nym had reached a decision. He wasn't about to let that dangerous human hurt his Clan. The Keeper might not approve, but he knew what needed to be done. He needed to stop this shemlen while he still had the chance.

Silently, he crept to the tent where the injured human was resting. The elves put up a tent to give the healers and the wounded man some privacy. He peeked through the slit, holding his breath in earnest as two wide blue eyes explored the small area. Creators must have been on his side because nobody but the sleeping shem was in there. Nym slipped inside the tent, dragging his feet across to the bedroll where the man was lying on the ground. His torso was bare and severely bandaged, some bloodstains still visible on the white cloth.

The man appeared to be in his thirties. He had a scruffy look, with messy dark brown shoulder-length hair that fell over his face, and unshaved patch of hair that was slowly turning into a beard. There was a scar lined vertically over his right eye, but with the man's eyes closed it was impossible to tell if the eye was affected or not.

The boy's eyes fell onto the stranger's clothing beside the bedroll; it was old and worn out, looking more like some beggar's rags. But then he noticed the two sheathed daggers beside the tattered clothes. They were longer than normally used dual daggers. He couldn't see the quality of the steel, but the handles were of fine pyrophite with ornaments on the guards and handles, so he expected the blades were just as skillfully made. The weapons looked far more expensive than whatever else the man owned, making Nym wonder if the shem had stolen them. His gaze returned to the man when he noticed his shallow breaths as he struggled to take in air. With every breath, his lungs wheezed as if something was lodged in there.

The boy's trembling hands went to the knife on his belt. He held the weapon with both hands and it never felt heavier. He could feel his palms getting sweaty.  _*I have to do this. I need to do this to protect the Clan.*_  He took a deep breath, clutching the handle of the blade like his life depended on it.

"What are you doing here, da'len?"

A familiar voice made the boy jump. He quickly turned around and hid the knife behind his back, tucking it back on his belt. Wide, guilt-ridden eyes stared at the intruder. "B-Brilwyn," he exclaimed in a stammer. His voice was failing him and he forgot how to breathe for a second. Did she know why he came here? Did she see?

The redhead was silent for a while, examining the boy from head to toe with an unreadable expression, before a wide grin spread across her face. "I see, I see, you came here to check on our wounded man, right? Were you worried? Oh, you're such a good child," the woman nodded in understanding, still smiling as she walked inside the tent and gave Nym a slap on the back.

"Huh?" All Nym could do was gape, completely perplexed. Of all the things he imagined Brilwyn would say, that one didn't even cross his mind. He couldn't tell if she was just being shrewd and pretending or was this really what she thought happened.

The young woman ignored his confused expression and continued, wrapping an arm across his shoulder as she guided them towards the bedroll, "In that case, why don't you help me keep an eye on this shem tonight. I'm on duty and we need to try our best to keep him alive until morning. Whether he lives will probably be decided by whether he makes it through this night or not. With his wounds, it'll be a struggle, but he surprisingly survived this far. He must be one tough shem," she explained with a grin.

"You…want me to help you take care of him?" Young Nym was completely at a loss.

"Did I stutter, da'len?" Brilwyn titled her head with a raised eyebrow. "Now go get me more fresh water to clean his wounds and replace his bandages. I need more elfroot too!"

~….~

Nym yawned for the tenth time that day. Brilwyn made him stay with her all night, helping her make elfroot salves and clean the man's wounds every few hours so they wouldn't infect. He had to admit he paled in shock when she took off the bandages and he saw the nasty wound underneath. Even with healing, Nym could see the gash was deep. The blade must've sliced all the way to the man's ribs. It was a miracle he survived at all, especially alone in the forest. In the end, Nym only managed to crawl into bed when dawn already rose and the first rays of pale light shone down on the aravels. He only had three hours of sleep before his kin slowly started waking up, starting another hard day's work. He couldn't possibly sleep in when others were doing chores around the camp.

So he helped out during the day, as dazed and tired as he was. He was currently sitting on a rock with numerous thin branches of fine wood beside him. His duty today was to make more bows for their hunters to use, but he could barely focus on his crafting. His hands worked instinctively, while his eyes begun to close on their own. He almost fell asleep, falling off the rock, when his body jerked upwards and he was startled awake. He rubbed his reddened eyes, groaning in irritation.  _*Damn, this is all Brilwyn's fault! Why does she care so much what happens to that shem anyway? And I hoped to ask Lemren to help me practice with my daggers today, but I wouldn't be able to focus on my lessons at all,*_  he complained in his head.

Although most elves in the clan used bows, they all also trained with daggers in case of close combat. However, those were only their secondary weapons used out of necessity, so most of them didn't use them unless forced to. On the other hand Nym learned early that he wasn't very talented with a bow, but he had some potential with blades, so he chose to focus on those weapons. Unfortunately, there weren't many in the clan who could train him as he wished, other than showing him the basics and a few dirty moves they picked up along the way. Lemren was one of the few who was quite skilled with the dual daggers, so Nym tried to catch him whenever he could to get some tips from him. Unfortunately, as one of the clan's Hunters, Lemren was often busy with hunting or scouting, so Nym had to train on his own. The children all had collective training sessions of course, but those mostly covered bows, short swords or bare-handed combat.

_*I guess I'm lucky I didn't pick a long sword or some two-handed weapon to use, or I really wouldn't have anyone to train with,*_  he mused. There were only a few warriors in the clan who used swords, though mostly short ones. There were some exceptions, like Gelen who wielded a long sword in one hand and a short sword in the other. Or Rion who was the only one crazy and strong enough to wield a broadsword which required two hands to swing. Nym tried to lift it once and got a cramp in his arm from the strain.

He stood up, letting another finished bow fall to the ground with the other ones and scooped all the crafted weapons in his thin arms. He ran back to the Clan's craftsman, Sowen, who was talking to the First of the Keeper, Varalhen. He gave the old hahren all of his bows so the other could store them away.

Sowen examined each one carefully, looking for even the slightest mistake on the bow. Only the ones crafted perfectly were used, while the ones who were flawed would be discarded and used as firewood or recrafted into other tools if possible. Meanwhile, Nym would have to craft more to replace all the destroyed ones. Crafting weapons was especially meticulous work, where not one error was allowed since it could cost their wielder's life. Yet Nym was in no shape for such focused work today. He gulped as he watched the old craftsman analyze his work with great care, knowing he probably made lots of errors today.

The First eyed the boy who was awaiting the other's words with clear anxiousness. Anticipation was written all over his young face, with his bright blue eyes gleaming up at the man. Sowen sighed, "Out of ten bows, you managed to ruin four of them, da'len. Where is your head today, hm?"

Nym cast his gaze to his feet, staring at his toes with a forlorn expression. "Ir abelas, Craftmaster Sowen," he mumbled. "I will make new ones," he insisted, but the mage stopped them.

Varalhen shook his head. "There is no point, you would only make new mistakes. Look at those bags under your eyes, have you not been sleeping well?" With obvious concern he cupped Nym's head to rise it, looking at the dark circles beneath his reddish eyes. He lowered his tone as he spoke again, "Are you plagued by nightmares again?"

Nym was a bit startled at the unexpected question. It's true he used to have nightmares before, but they haven't come in a long time. Still, he couldn't tell him the truth; that he snuck into the human's tent to try and kill him, only to help nursing him after he was caught by Brilwyn. Stepping away from Varalhen's touch, he shook his head quickly, "No, I'm fine! I just…I was thinking a lot so I couldn't sleep much," he lied.

"I see…about the shemlen?"

Nym's head jolted back up to look at the other elf.

"I heard you arguing with the Keeper about it yesterday," Varalhen admitted. "Well,  _everyone_  heard," he shrugged.

The boy stared up at the mage desperately. "But aren't I right? Why are we letting this shem stay, he has nothing to do with us. He will only bring trouble," he insisted. He felt like he still had some unresolved feelings from his previous argument with Deshanna, because he could feel his frustration returning. Yet it wouldn't be fair to let it out on Varalhen, so he tried to keep himself in check.

The First took a deep breath, scratching the back of his head. "Look, you may be right, but it doesn't change the fact that our Keeper has made her choice. Keeper Istimaethoriel has the role of protecting the Clan and when did she ever led us astray? So I ask that you trust her and heed her advice. She would not risk our Clan light-heartedly, so obviously she doesn't believe the human poses a threat to us. I have cast another healing spell on him today, believe me, he is too weak to be dangerous," the man reassured him.

The boy didn't look convinced, but he nodded at the First anyway.

Varalhen smiled at him. "Good, now go rest. I'll call you when the meal is ready. Old Maven is making deer stew," he grinned.

Nymrodel walked towards his bedroll, only to pass by the tent were the shem was sleeping. He glared at the human, who was completely unaware of the animosity and mistrust towards him, but he was too tired to try anything today. He wouldn't be able to gather all that courage that took for him to act yesterday. He spent hours finding his resolve only for it to be in naught.

~…..~

It was the third day after they brought the human to the camp, when the First suddenly burst out of the tent with a shout, "The shem is awake!"

Everyone turned their heads towards the flustered voice, but only Nym froze in place with dread creeping up his spine. Instead of stalking towards the tent like the rest of his kin, he stood up and walked over to the camp's halla. They had a special area for themselves, free from any fences or restrictions. The Dalish and the halla had a special connection so the halla were with them willingly, not like the tamed animals humans used.

He drew near where the halla were resting or grazing and sat beside Banshee, one of the youngest of the herd. She was lying on the grass with her legs tucked under her, dozing off in the sunlight's warmth. Nym crossed his legs and started combing his fingers though her short silken fur. His white hair and pale skin matched the snow-colored coat of the halla, making him almost unnoticeable when they surrounded him. Ordinarily it calmed him down, but not today. As much as he tried to ignore it, his curiosity was pulling him towards the tent - to go see this shemlen that survived impossible odds.

Despite the Keeper telling everyone to stay away from the tent, the curious elves crowded around the entrance, trying to peek inside and see the human.

Inside, the said man slowly opened his eyes, showing two dark amber irises. They instantly fell on the woman kneeling next to his bedroll. She was fair, with green eyes and raven hair tied in one thick braid. She was in her thirties like him, but looked younger. Or perhaps the years just treated her better. The markings on her face and the slender pointed ears told him instantly that she was a Dalish elf, a creature of legend in this Age, making him conclude that he was currently inside a Dalish camp. Whether that was good or bad, he couldn't tell, but at least they didn't appear to be hostile….yet. But the one thing that stood out the most, was the staff in her right hand. She was a mage.

"Can you speak, human?"

The man tried to, but his weak voice cracked. His throat was completely dry. He gaped, letting out a broken sound.

The elven woman instantly understood, taking a wooden cup next to his bedside and filling it with fresh water. She handed it to the man.

He nodded gratefully before starting to drink as if he was a man dying in the desert. Only after the cup was completely empty did he quench his thirst. "Thank you," his voice was still hoarse, but he managed to use it this time. "What happened to me?"

"Our hunters found you passed out and injured in the woods. It was remarkable you lived. You must be very lucky…or your gods have smiled upon you," the Keeper explained.

The man snorted darkly when she mentioned the gods. "I don't have any gods that would help me," he muttered.

She didn't comment on his statement and continued, "I am Keeper Istimaethoriel of the Clan Lavellan. We do not mean you harm…but we will defend ourselves if you try anything hostile." Her voice was stern, but calm. Her gaze was clear from hate or disgust, despite dealing with a  _shemlen_ , but it also showed that she was dead-serious about her words. He had enough life experience to know that look very well. Her kindness would shift to merciless hostility in an instant if he tried anything that might endanger her people.

He knelt on the furs, turning his body to face the woman. She looked confused and jerked back, unsure what he was trying to do.

"Do not try to get up, you are far too weak to move yet," she warned, fretting over him now.

But he didn't listen. Instead, he bowed his head low, groaning in pain as his injured torso protested. The searing pain traveled through his body and bloodstains appeared on his clean bandages, but the man didn't move from his position.

"I thank you for my life, Lady Lavellan," he formally spoke. He didn't know how to address her since he knew little of Dalish customs, so he hoped this would do. "I owe you a great debt. My life. And I will be sure to find a way to repay it."

The Keeper kept silent, staring at him in shock. Behind her, the gathered crowd of elves was just as equally perplexed. A few gasps and whispers traveled among them, but it was mostly in elven and incomprehensible to the human. None of them were used to shemlen treating them with such respect, although most of them just thought the human was crazy and delirious from a fever, seeing how he risked ripping apart his torso all over again just to give his gratitude properly.

Then a loud angry voice brought them all back to reality as an elven woman pushed through the crowd and stomped inside the tent. "Fenedhis lasa! What the hell are you doing, felasil! Are you trying to reopen your wounds?!" The angry woman had long red hair braided in numerous tiny braids, all tied together with a thong. Her deep green eyes burned with frustration as she practically pushed the man down onto the furs, while cursing at him in elven. Her name was Brilwyn, but the man didn't know it at that point. "I didn't spend my days treating your wounds and bringing down your fever so you could kill yourself now!" Even the Keeper gaped at the sight.

A few chuckles echoed from the crowed as the clan consequentially relaxed from this comical display. He could still hear a few comments, mostly saying, "This shem is crazy."

"A man needs to say his gratitude immediately. Otherwise, it pales in meaning. How can I possibly wait when the people who saved me are right before my eyes," the human protested, almost arguing with the redhead elf now.

Meanwhile, the Keeper sighed, then chuckled as she was brought back from her shock. "Then, how about you start by telling us your name and what happened to you?" She then turned to the rest of the clan, still spying from outside, "And you!" Everyone stiffened at the sound of her tone. "Disperse at once! Give us some privacy," she ordered, although it sounded more like a mother scolding her children.

With disgruntled mutters, the Clan did as they were told. All of them went back to their work, though kept one ear to the tent just in case something unpredictable happened. They all trusted Istimaethoriel could handle herself, being a mage and their Keeper, but they were still protective of her. Two elven hunters stood guard outside the tent – but it was to keep their eye on the human, rather than to keep the other elves away.

"I would like to stay, Keeper. I want to keep an eye on this shemlen," a deep voice sounded from the entrance. This time, a man who came in was an elf with long black hair tied in a low ponytail. One strand of hair fell on the left side of his face, not tied with the rest. He was tall and muscular, used to holding a sword. He had a long and a short sword strapped on the left side of his waist and rested one hand on the pommels, as a warning.

The two women inside the tent called him with different names…or titles? The human wasn't sure.

"Gelen," the Keeper called out in a greeting.

The redhead used "Vhenan."

Gelen gave the human a dark scowl as he stared at him with expectation. "Well? You are…?" Unlike the Keeper, he was obviously not as patient, even with the injured.

The human laid flat on his back as he talked, pain and weakness returning to his body. He used up all of his strength for that feat earlier. "My name is Ronas Cale. I…was attacked nearby and managed to hide in the woods," he was rather vague with the details.

"It is true. There was no fighting around him, but there was a trail of blood and broken twigs. My men tracked it back to the riverside. That is where most of the fight happened, although by the traces, you were fighting only one person. We also found these strange darts at the scene," Gelen took out a small metallic dart.

"Be careful, it's laced with poison," Ronas warned darkly. "That's how the bastard got me. The darts aren't deadly, but they weaken you and muddle your mind. Makes it hard for you to defend yourself," he explained. "I fought…multiple attackers, but most of the fighting occurred far away from here. I managed to escape, but that last guy was pretty persistent in chasing after me," he explained with a sigh. Then he looked up at Gelen, "You're pretty great, you got all that just from tracks on the ground," he grinned.

The other didn't look amused, he just frowned. "This obviously wasn't some bandit attack gone wrong. Why was that man after you and what happened to him? Who are you?"

"Now it was Cale's turn to frown; not at the elves, but at the memory. "The man's dead…I killed him and tossed his body into the river. He was taken away by the current, so if you're worried that he will endanger your clan by coming after me again, you don't have to be," he read right through Gelen's concerns. "And I'm…nobody. I've been a nobody for a long time now," he added in a low voice.

"You don't have a home? Nowhere to return to?" Brilwyn's rage from before completely subsided and was replaced by a concerned expression.

"Don't get attached," Gelen muttered a warning, as if he was talking about a pet animal.

Ronas chuckled, not offended in the slightest. "That's right, I'm just a vagabond."

He didn't mention his connection to his attacker nor any reasons why he was attacked, but the Keeper could tell it was intentional. It was something he obviously wasn't comfortable sharing and Deshanna understood.  _*We all have our secrets*,_  she thought. He was a mystery, but he didn't seem a bad man. So she decided not to pry for now.

"More importantly…I do have one question, though," Cale started. The three elves all looked at him in anticipation. He pointed behind all of them with a curious stare. "What is that small white creature giving me such dangerous death glares? If looks could kill…," he stated rather light-heartedly despite the subject of death threats.

Startled, all three elves turned to look behind. There, standing at the entrance of the tent and hiding behind the flap rather poorly, stood the white-haired elf boy. He was giving the human glares of suspicion, as if trying to drive him away with just his stare.

"Nym," Deshanna sighed.

The boy trembled under their gaze, yet he stood his ground with a defiant expression. He kept his big eyes trained on Cale, continuously glaring at the man. "I…I'm not afraid of you, shem!"

"Nymrodel, this isn't a place for children to play around. Don't make me toss you out," Gelen warned in a stern voice, but the boy ignored him. Gelen always had that scowl on his face, but everyone in the clan knew he had a soft heart deep inside…well,  _very_  deep inside. He was still a monster when pissed off.

On their surprise, Cale just laughed, making them once again think there was something wrong with his head. Although that laugh quickly turned into a coughing fit. He groaned in pain from the strain before he gave the kid another bright smile. "Com'ere, kid. You're not afraid, right?" He teased Nym on purpose, the toothy grin never leaving his expression.

In an instant, Nym's sour expression turned cold. His small hands clenched into fists as if enduring the fear he truly felt, replacing it with determination. He straightened up, walking slowly towards the man with his hard gaze piercing the other. There was none of that boyish naiveté left, but instead something darker lurked inside him. In that moment, the boy looked like he was ready to kill if the other tried to harm him.

"Heh, what a murderous stare," Cale grinned, completely unfazed by the boy's change, but he did notice it. He looked at Nym carefully, smiling knowingly like he could see something the others could not. He propped himself up on his elbows as the boy drew closer. "So what, you don't like humans? I guess I can understand that. Humans don't usually treat you well, huh?"

Nym's glare persisted, "Outsiders will only bring trouble to the Clan…I don't want that to happen. You should get well soon and leave," he explained curtly.

"So you want me to get well soon, what a kind child. I'm touched," Cale answered, feigning he was deeply moved by it.

Nymrodel gaped wordlessly. What was wrong with this shemlen? "That's not what I meant," he protested. He became flustered, forgetting his dark demeanor for a second.

The man only laughed, before suddenly putting a hand on Nym's hair. He patted the boy's head, rustling the short hair and tangling it even more.

The young elf was completely in shock, being touched so casually by a stranger. He quickly jerked away, stumbling backwards from how hastily he moved. "Don't touch me, you bastard!" He smacked Cale's hand in the process, looking at the other wide-eyed. The shem was mocking him, treating him like a child. He bit back his anger and quickly ran away, disappearing outside the tent.

The Keeper sighed as she stared after Nymrodel. Then she turned her attention back to Cale, "I apologize for that. His actions shame me."

"Nymrodel isn't a bad child…just a troubled one. He lost his family and he's been through a lot," Brilwyn admitted.

"So he's an orphan," Cale muttered.

"No one is an orphan in a Dalish clan,  _alin_ ," the Keeper smiled warmly.

Ronas Cale smiled in return. "It's alright. It's not bad being cautious with strangers….much better than being too trusting, right?" He grinned.

The elves glanced at each other in wonder, but they didn't answer. This shemlen was truly different from any they met so far.

~…..~

Even after Ronas awoke, the Keeper didn't ask him to leave. He stayed with the Clan, recovering from his wounds while their healers or the First would help him with treatment. The man was recovering at remarkable speed. After four more days he was already walking around and even helping around the Clan, despite the protests of their lead healer. Every time Brilwyn would catch him outside of bed, she'd drag him back to his tent accompanied by a flurry of elven curses. Cale didn't know what they meant, but he could guess from her tone that she was insulting him.

As Ronas watched them and learned from them, he soon realized the whole camp worked like a well-oiled machine. Every clan member had their duties that they performed daily. They all moved with purpose, whether it was training, cooking, crafting or simply taking care of the young ones. There was a calming rhythm to their everyday life, which was in turn hardworking but peaceful. There were smiles on everyone's faces as they interacted. They all had their ranks and there were apprentices, but ultimately they were all equal. There were no class divisions, no nobles and peasants. Just people living in harmony with each other.

Most of them treated him with caution and suspicion, never getting too close to him, but they were generally polite and even supportive at times. When he started helping out by fixing their aravels or skinning their game, slowly the elves let him get closer. When they realized he meant them no harm, their curiosity overpowered their suspicion and they started asking him questions, mainly about his life in the cities. Just like the humans had many misconceptions about the Dalish, the forest elves also had many rumors about the humans, and some of them were pure fantasy.

"Is it true shems eat cats and dogs?" "Why do they cut down all their trees and put stone wherever they go?" "Is it true there are giant monsters living in the sewers beneath their cities?" "Is it true their shemlen kids don't know how to hunt?" "I heard they hunt Dalish elves and keep them as pets!"

Daily, Ronas was bombarded with an infinite amount of questions, mostly by the Lavellan children who didn't yet know much about the rest of the world. The ones who didn't have their vallaslin yet were kept protected in the clan, rarely allowed to go to the forest without an adult chaperone. The Keeper and the First taught them lessons in history of the world, while the others taught them how to hunt and protect themselves. Hahren Sowen, with the vallaslin of the God June, taught them basics of craftsmanship. However, there was always a fear of slavers, bandits or simply hateful humans who would harm the children, so their freedom was limited.

The man didn't mind all the questioning. He was having fun, and he liked helping the elders of the clan or playing with the children. Clan Lavellan was not big; it only took him a day to meet everyone and remember most of their names. They seemed more open with humans than other clans, although he knew most of the stories about Dalish clans in general was absurdity. He really doubted these people ate their young or humans or any of the other nonsense he heard throughout his life.

The one who never got close to him, but only kept glaring at him from afar, was the white-haired elf boy. Nymrodel always kept his distance and even when Cale approached him, he was cold to the human. No matter what Cale did or how friendly he was, the boy wouldn't warm up to him. Ronas often teased him or ruffled his hair which only made the boy angry, thinking he was getting picked on. Nevertheless, the man decided his flustered look was much better-suited for a kid his age than the cold demeanor he ordinarily wore towards him.

That's why he wasn't surprised when he noticed the boy watching him curiously from afar, while he sat and cleaned his dual daggers. The bright silverate of the blades glistened in the sunlight, while the dark red handles reminded of blood. The daggers were completely straight, but a few inches longer than usual ones.

He was humming happily, pretending not to notice, as the boy crept closer. It seemed Nym's curiosity won over, because he walked over to the man, even surprising Cale by doing so.

"You know how to wield those?" The boy asked cautiously.

Cale grinned, "Of course. That's why I have them."

Nym eyed him curiously. The human was dressed in his old robes, making him look like a true vagabond. "They look expensive. How did you acquire them?"

He snickered, "I didn't steal them, if that's what you're asking. I've had them with me for a long time now…" His eyes glazed over as if he was traveling somewhere far away in his mind. Far into memory. "I earned them. A long time ago when I was in Tevinter. It belonged to a blood mage's bodyguard. He was rumored to be the best in his line of work…it took me approximately five seconds to kill him. Then I ended the Tevinter mage and freed all his slaves," Cale smirked at the memory.

"Elven slaves," Nym asked in a low voice. There was something in his tone…something Cale couldn't quite decipher.

"Some of them were. Others were humans like me. Things like race don't matter when you're a slave, I think."

The boy was silent for a while, staring at the sharp blades as if mesmerized. The two small daggers sheathed on his belt didn't go unnoticed by Cale's sharp eye. He saw the boy practice with them before. They were worn-out and cheap-looking, made from simple steel, but even so, the elf took great care of them, shining and sharpening them regularly.

"You train with daggers too," he asked the kid.

Nymrodel snorted. "When I can. I'm not very good because I mostly have to train alone apart from our regular training exercises," he complained, then quickly shut his mouth, afraid he shared too much information with the human. He cursed himself for letting his guard down, even if it was for a second.

That second was all Cale needed. His smile spread into a wide grin. "Ooh? Do you want me to train with you? You want me to teach you?" He teased the boy, jabbing his elbow into the boy's shoulder lightly. He could see Nymrodel's cheeks growing red from anger, and that only spurred Cale on. It was always so amusing to mess with this kid. "If you ask me nicely, I might agree. If you act like a cute kid and ask 'Please, ser Ronas, will you train me?' then I might do it," he taunted.

Nym's face contorted in disgust. "As if I'd ever ask a shem for help, you stupid old man!"

"Old man!?" Ronas felt like he was just stabbed in the heart with those words.

"Stop treating me like a kid," Nym shouted, stomping away from the human.

"But you  _are_  a kid," Cale yelled after him, but the boy ignored him.

~…..~

Meanwhile in Ansburg, a certain noble was standing beside a fireplace, staring at the fire. Lord Ciriam Endfall wasn't the Margrave of Ansburg, but everybody already highly suspected he will be the next one after the current Margrave was to finish his service. He had the standing for it, but more importantly, he had every important city institution in his pocket.

Ansburg was a large bustling city, but although agriculturally important, was often called a "backwater." Because of its size, it wasn't easy to oversee all of its people and institutions. It was the Margrave's job, but because it was such demanding work, it was often hard to see the corruption within it all. And that is exactly what Lord Endfall took advantage of.

He had the whole city in his clutches, and although rumors of his corruption spread around the city, there was never any proof of it. And there never would be as long as the people were getting their money. He bribed most of the city officials, whether to give him information or work for his benefit, and the Margrave was never the wiser. He spread his influence across the city using his riches, rising in name and power, until even the Templars of the city were at his back and call. Even though their primary duty was serving at the Ansburg Circle of Magi, the Knight-Commander would sometimes use his men as Endfall's small personal army. They would always get handsomely paid, so the Templars never saw any problem in it.

Right now, this Lord had his eyes set on a certain piece of land just north of Ansburg. The land did not belong to anyone yet, so it could be claimed by someone with a title and enough power. Its position was good since it had the river on one side and the soil was good for farming. The Lord looked to extend his lands and this piece was perfect for it. The only problem was that the land was currently settled by a group of Dalish elves - Clan Lavellan, as his spies discovered.

Since the city had no official claim on the land, its resources or Ansburg City Guard could not be used to drive the savages away. However, Lord Endfall didn't rise to power without wits. He was a sly man, knowing exactly how to strike at his opponent. Even if the City couldn't do anything about the elves, there was a force that could.

The Lord turned away from the fireplace towards the other person in the room. A man wearing heavy armor with a long sword at his waist and a shield on his back. His breastplate had the insignia of the Templars.

"So the problem shall be dealt with, Knight-Commander Tancius?" The Lord asked with a cold gaze towards his ally.

The Templar smirked, "As usual, my lord. There are apostates in that elven clan, so it is our solemn duty to deal with them…one way or the other."

"Kill them or drive them away, I do not care. As long as they are out of those lands," the noble ordered dryly. Even as he spoke of such matters, there was no sympathy in his voice.

It was a shrewd plan. He didn't want to implicate himself or alert the Margrave of his plans, so he could not act officially. But if the Templars go after the Clan, it will simply look like they are doing their duty and chasing down apostate mages. And when the Clan is gone, Endfall can swoop in and be the first to claim the land before anyone even hears about what happened.

A sadistic grin spread across the Knight-Commander's face, his eyes burning with bloodlust. "Those savages are best to be exterminated, my lord."

* * *

 

Glossary:

_Aravel -_ A wagon used by the Dalish/ also a physical and spiritual path, a journey with purpose. Humans call them "landships."

_Hahren_  - Elder; used as a term of respect by the Dalish as well as by city elves for the leader of an alienage.

_Sule sal harthir_  - Until we hear of each other again.

_Ma serannas, vhenan_  – Thank you, Heart/Love

_Fen'Harel ma ghilana_  - Dread Wolf guides you (Indicates someone being misled)

_Ma harel, da'len_  - You lie, child

_Da'len_  - Little one

_Shemlen/Shem -_ The original name elves use for the human race; continues to see use as a slang term, literally "quick children".

_Fenedhis lasa_  – a common elven curse

_Felasil_  - fool

_Alin_  – Stranger

**Note:** The Dalish essentially have three names;

Personal Name, or Soul Name _(Sal’melin): This is the personal name of the Dalish. What we might consider to be their true name. The name that identifies them._

Patronymic, or Parent Name _(Linal’melin): This is the name of the same-gender parent of the Dalish. For example, if the Dalish is male, this will be their father’s name. In Nymrodel’s case, it is_ _Feynvin – his father’s name. The Dalish use this name to address each other with formal respect._

Clan Name _(lethal’melin): This is the clan name of the Dalish. It is the name of the clan that the Dalish was born to, not the clan that they grow up and end up living with. Dalish_ have _the option of adding their new clan if they wish. For example, someone like Merrill, who was traded to the_ Sabrae _clan from the Alerion clan, could very well have two clan names._

Nymrodel and his clan don’t use Nym’s Parental name to address him, however, and more about why that is will be explained later in the story.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, Nym's story of the past was too long to put all in one chapter so I had to split it in two parts. It's done though, I just need to proofread the next chapter.  
> I hope you liked this one and that you had as much fun reading it as I had writing it! ^^


	3. Little Blade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nym's story continues...

 

Nym stood in the middle of the forest, eyes closed and perfectly still. He took a deep breath before opening his eyes, a determined expression on his young features. Jumping high in the air, he took three throwing-knives off his belt and twisting his body in the air, flinging them towards the trees. At better inspection, some of the tree trunks had white sheets of paper on them as if marking targets. Two blades hit two different papers, but the third one missed and whizzed next to the tree instead. The boy didn’t stop though. As soon as he landed on his feet, he took out two daggers in each hand and ran towards the third tree. He hit two more on the way, close enough to pass through while slicing each on one side. Pretending there was an enemy in front of him, Nym jumped into a roll, closing the distance between him and the tree quickly, and sliced at the trunk just as he was standing up, passing the tree by when his attack was over. He did it all in one fluid motion and when he turned around, he happily noted there was a deep gash in the tree, splitting the piece of paper in two.

“Not bad,” a familiar yet unwanted voice startled the boy, making him jump and turn towards its source. It was the human, Cale. Surprisingly, Nymrodel didn’t sense his presence at all even though the man was standing only a few meters away from him. Everyone in the Clan knew the mysterious man was more than he pretended to be, but the Keeper forbade them from prying. Still, at times like this, he wondered who this man truly was if he could mask his presence so easily.

His expression instantly soured when he saw the shemlen. “Why are you always appearing before me like some stalker? It’s gross.”

They already entered the second week that Ronas Cale was staying with the Clan, but Nym’s opinion of him hardly improved. Only his attitude changed. Now, instead of glaring at the man constantly, he acted cold towards him. He promised to himself that he wasn’t going to let this human get to him anymore. No more mocking, teasing, or getting under his skin.

Unfortunately, nobody told Ronas that. The man just wouldn’t leave him alone. Nym thought of two possibilities; the human was either an imbecile and didn’t notice Nym didn’t want to interact with him or he simply ignored Nym’s protests and didn’t care. Whatever the case, he was impervious to anything the boy said or did to get him to leave him alone.

Even now, Cale only smirked at his bitter words. “Actually, your uhh…First, Varalhen, asked me to get you. Weren’t you supposed to be bringing water from the river?” Cale pointed at the full bucket of water placed nearby.

Nym followed his finger and sweat appeared on his forehead when he saw the bucket of water there…just waiting for him. He was on his way back when he passed through this place that he usually used as his training grounds, and he just couldn’t resist. He got carried away and lost track of time. Oh, he was in so much trouble now… Already resigning himself to his fate, he sighed.

“What, you gonna be in trouble?” It was as this shem could read minds sometimes. Before he could respond, Cale took the bucket, ignoring the boy’s protests. “Come on, I’ll help you out.”

“I don’t need your help,” Nym grumbled all the way back to camp, giving him an annoyed glare. He needed to crank his neck all the way up just to look at Cale’s face, as taller as the man was.    

As soon as they returned to camp, Varalhen cut off their path, his hands on his hips as he stared down at the boy, “And where were you? I sent you for water hours ago, do you have any idea how worried I became? And what if the Keeper found out you were missing? You know how much she frets over you. She would rise up the whole camp in alarm,” he lectured the youngling with a stern frown.

Nymrodel could only look down in guilt, wiggling his bare toes as he stared at them. “Abelas, First.” He felt like he was saying that a lot lately, and that only left him with a bitter taste in his mouth.

Cale switched his gaze between the boy and the First, silent but wondering. He showed interest in something Varalhen has said. Then he spoke, surprising both elves, “Actually, it’s my fault, Varalhen. I was training in the forest and Nym stumbled onto me and then we got talking about weapons. Next thing you know, I’m showing him some moves and he completely forgot about his responsibilities. But it’s my fault, I distracted him.”

Nym’s blue eyes widened as he watched Cale lie. _*I don’t understand, didn’t he say the First sent him for me? He’ll know he’s lying.*_

“So he was with you?” Varalhen frowned in suspicion. The boy obviously didn’t like this man, so he found it difficult to believe they would spend more than a minute next to each other. Then again, everyone in the Clan knew how much Nymrodel loved to train with his blades. He was interested in anything that could help him further his skills with them, so maybe he bit back his distrust towards Cale at least enough to ask about some lessons.

His eyes fell onto the sheathed daggers Ronas wore on his back. Even though he wore them, he never really unsheathed them unless for cleaning, as far as Varalhen noticed. Surely it was because he didn’t want to frighten the Dalish. Seeing the human give him a confirming nod, the First sighed. “Fine, but he is still not in the clear. You are not supposed to just forget about your duties because something more interesting came by, da’len. Be sure to be more careful in the future,” he warned.

Nym nodded to the First, watching the other elf leave. He was silent for a while before he stepped back and stared at the human in distrust. “You told me the First sent you for me. So explain why he doesn’t know anything about that,” he demanded.

Cale scratched the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. “Ahh, you caught that then…” By Nym’s piercing stare, he could see the kid wasn’t about to let this slide without an explanation. “Ok, honestly, I noticed you disappeared for a long time so I got worried.” He shrugged. “You could’ve been attacked by bandits or…eaten by wolves or something, for all I knew.”

“So you really are a stalker, old man.” Nym stared at him blankly. His expression almost looked like he pitied the friendless human.

“I’m not a stalker!” Cale protested, almost like a child.

The boy realized it was satisfying to rattle the shem for a change and not the other way around. He gave him a triumphant smirk.

Ronas’s demeanor shifted to being more serious when he asked, “So why would the Keeper freak out so much if you were gone? Why does she worry more about you than the others?”

The kid was taken aback by that question, Cale noticed.

“She doesn’t worry about me more than the others,” he insisted on denying it. “The Keeper worries about all of our wellbeing. She cares about the whole Clan. And…it’s none of your business anyway! I already told you I don’t need your help and I certainly didn’t want you covering for me. That only puts me in an awkward position. I don’t want to be dishonest with the First or the Keeper, it’s disrespectful,” he begun to rant, angrier with every word as he went on. It was like his usual cold demeanor was gone and replaced with something more honest. His emotions were spilling out of him. “We aren’t as dishonest and so quick to lie like you shems!”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” Ronas tried to calm his down, gesturing for Nym to relax. “If you want, I’ll go apologize to Varalhen and tell him the truth.”

“No.” Nym instantly cut him off, but the reason wasn’t what Ronas was expecting. “That’s not your responsibility, it’s _mine_. You are an outsider here and you have no idea of our ways or how we live our lives. You are not Dalish. You are not one of us. You’re just playing, messing around, yet you don’t understand anything about us,” Nymrodel countered.

Before Cale could respond, the boy hurried off towards the aravel where the First was discussing something with the Keeper. The human sighed deeply, a troubled look in his tired eyes as he watched the boy’s back.

That night, Old Maven gathered everyone around the campfire for another story. He spoke of Andruil for the children, a story many of their older kin have already heard.

“Long ago, when our people were strong and free, we roamed the world and could do as we pleased. But we were taught by Andruil, Mother of Hares, to respect nature and all of the Creators’ creatures. Even though the earth was ours, we did not misuse it. They say the great leaders of the People would pray to Andruil for guidance. Where shall we hunt? Where shall we raise our halla? Where shall we settle and build? Andruil would send her messenger, the owl, to show the People the way, and they would follow it to where the land was blessed. Always keep an eye out for the noble owl. You never know; Andruil might have a message for you.”

While the elder spun his tales throughout the evening, Ronas stood from his place and walked off towards one of the aravels where the Keeper Istimaethoriel was working on some potions. He didn’t know what it was, but he could see ingredients like wild barriers, deathroot and white stalk next to her. There were also some slimy substances Cale wasn’t sure he wanted to know the origin of.

She smiled when she saw him walking over. “Are you not interested in Old Maven’s stories? He has some good ones.”

Ronas chuckled, “I’m sure. But it actually got me thinking…I’m surprised you let me stay this long.”

Deshanna raised one thin dark eyebrow, “Did your injuries heal overnight while I wasn’t looking?”

The man snickered at that. In truth, his wounds were already closing up nicely. He was recovering faster than people would expect for someone who was so near-death. Even though he still wore bandages and felt some pain when straining his body, he could accomplish every-day activates without much difficulty. “But don’t your people believe that spending time with humans quickens their lifespan or something? Isn’t that why the elves started aging?” He heard the story from one of the Clan’s hahren before.

“Oh, you know your history…or at least some of elven legends, I see,” she was a bit surprised. “True, that is one of the theories, but it is only a theory. In truth, even elves who completely isolate themselves from human contact still age, as far as I can tell. We are all mortal now, whether we like it or not. Our clan was always more involved with humans than most Dalish. We often trade with them and gather information from the cities. After all, we are all a part of this world. No sense in trying to deny that.”

“That’s a pretty fresh perspective,” Ronas admitted, humming to himself.

Deshanna smiled. “I could say the same to you.” He was unusually kind and respectful towards the Dalish, something none of her kind would expect from humans. Cutting the white stalk in pieces with her knife, she started rubbing it between her palms, making it mushy. She added it to the mixture of the phial in front of her. “Why the sudden interest?”

Cale shrugged. “Nym told me today I don’t know anything about your ways and…he was right. I might accidentally do something to disrespect your people, if I don’t learn.”

The woman smiled again. “Do not worry, we can all see you do not have bad intentions. Even if you do something to anger one of us, they’ll probably forgive you since it was done out of ignorance. At best, they will correct you or set you straight. At worst, you will be called _felasil._ ”

His eyebrows furrowed at the word. He was pretty sure he was called that by Brilwyn already, more than once. “Fela-sil?”

“A fool,” Deshanna grinned.

_*Ah, that explains a lot,*_ Cale thought with a blank expression.  

“But if you are truly interested in learning our way of life, I can teach you more. It is the Keeper’s duty to teach our younglings of the Clan’s ways. You might not be a part of our Clan, but you are a part of our lives, nevertheless. For now at least.”

He smiled, “Yeah. I’d like that.” Then he remembered something else. “Can I ask something else…,” he started, a bit unsure this time.

“You are usually bolder that this. What is the matter?”

“It’s just something I overheard, I suppose. Why do you worry about Nym so much?”

The woman was silent for a while, her face troubled. “It is strange that you of all people ask me that. Isn’t it for the same reason that you won’t leave him be? He is a good child, but there is a darkness inside of him. If he is left alone, it would probably consume him. It is still unclear what kind of man he will one day become, but he has a potential to be someone very generous…or someone cold and merciless,” she stated. “But you already know this…that is why you keep watching over him, poking at him, teasing him…you bring out the more childish aspect of him. It is better than the coldness he is sometimes capable of.”

Ronas smirked. “You’re pretty sharp. You see more than you let on.”

She gave him a knowing smile. “My duty is to take care of this whole Clan. I must see everything.”

“Yes, I noticed something was a bit off about him when I first met him in my tent. Later, Brilwyn also confessed to me that she caught him looming over me while I was still unconscious. She said she was quite sure he came there to kill me.” He sighed, running his fingers through his long hair. “That made me certain…I decided to keep an eye on the kid, I suppose. Even if he sees me as a bother,” he admitted with a sad smirk. “I just don’t want him to become like-,” he cut himself off before he said any more. _*Me. I don’t want him to become like me,*_ he finished his thought.  

She didn’t look very surprised by the fact Nym tried to kill him. She probably already heard it from the redhead, but decided not to intervene. Brilwyn punished the boy for it already. “So what you really want to ask is how he became like this,” the Keeper interrupted, already reading his intentions. “But I’m afraid that is not my story to tell. If Nymrodel decides to tell you one day, so be it.”

“Heh. Fat chance of that ever happening,” Ronas muttered in a bittern tone.

Deshanna grinned. “You do not look like someone who gives up easily, though. I suppose that stubbornness is something the both of you have in common,” she teased. “You and _Da’mi._ ”

“Da’mi?” Once again, Ronas was lost.

She mulled over it for a while, thinking of the best way to explain it. “It literally means ‘Little blade.’ It is an endearment for someone who is very stubborn…like him,” she explained. “I suggest you do not call him that, however, or he might try to kill you again,” she chirped jokingly.

Ronas laughed. “Noted.”

He was about to leave when she called out to him, “Ronas. Be careful. Do not start something you won’t be able to see through,” she warned.

His gaze was puzzled as he stared back at her. Deshanna sighed, seeing she would have to explain. “He was hurt quite badly by his father, both mentally and physically. It happened two years ago, but it is still fresh in his mind. He also lost his twin brother at that time and I’m sure that loss hurts him the most. After that, he simply lost trust in people…in the world. All that is left is this dire need to protect his Clan. It’s all he has left now and I’m sure he’s terrified of losing it. He doesn’t hate you, not truly. But you are an abnormality in his ordinary life and he is afraid you will bring bad change…If you plan on digging up the past and unravel his emotions, be prepared to be there for him when he needs you. He is more fragile than he looks, as much as he pretends otherwise. You are a guest here and you will leave eventually, so be sure you don’t leave a broken child behind. If you are simply doing this out of amusement or curiosity, I ask that you rather leave him be.”  

They were both silent and wearing serious expressions. Neither of them had that light-hearted air around them anymore. Ronas nodded once, acknowledging the Keeper’s words, before he turned to leave again.

~…..~

In the next week Ronas helped more around the camp, while studying about the Dalish ways with the Keeper. The others watched him with curiosity, wondering why he was going to all that trouble to learn about them when he will soon be on his way. They sometimes laughed when he misused an elven word, but were always kind enough to correct him, to teach him.

Hahren Sowen taught him how to craft things from wood. Only simple things for now, like toys or dishes. He liked it, though. He liked working with his hands for something that wasn’t fighting or killing. Instead of destroying, he was creating something new. And perhaps afterwards he could make someone happy with his creations.

Even now, his skillful hands worked with a piece of small wood though Ronas still had no idea what it was to become. It would come to him, eventually. He had blisters and small cuts on his hands, especially the fingers, but it didn’t bother him. He hummed happily while he worked, leaning against a tall tree near the camp.

“And? How long are you planning on sitting there?” An annoyed young voice came from above him.

Nym was sitting on one of the branches, leaning against the tree trunk while reading a book. Without a word, the human had come to sit on the ground below and work, pretending he didn’t see him up there. The elf already knew it was only feigned ignorance. He learned a long time ago that this human was sharper than he appeared.

“Why? You need help getting down from there?” Ronas teased with a happy smile, never turning his gaze from the small piece of wood he was working on. “Ouch!” His focus was broken when a pinecone flew from above and hit his head. Jerking his head up, he could see the boy holding another pinecone, wordlessly threatening to throw it his way. “Ok, ok, sorry! My apologies. Ar abelas!”

“ _Ir_ abelas,” Nym corrected, but he put down the dangerous ‘weapon.’ The scowl on his face persisted for a while before it shifted in an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know why you’re suddenly so interested in the Dalish. You will be gone from Clan Lavellan soon enough.”

Ronas shrugged. “Weren’t you the one who told me I knew nothing of your People? You were right. So I’m going to change that.”

The boy looked startled. “For something like that-,” he started in surprise, but quickly shut his mouth again. Was Ronas doing all of this just because Nymrodel got upset with him the other day? He couldn’t believe it. That’s when he noticed he called him by his name, instead of “ _that shem.”_ He quickly reprimanded himself for it, even if it was only in his mind. _*Don’t get close to the shem. Don’t trust him. He’s just an outsider,*_ he repeated in his head. Deciding it was better not to converse with the man anymore, Nym turned his head away from him again. “I don’t understand you,” he muttered under his breath, his cheeks just a shade redder than usual. He was slightly flustered, although he didn’t want to admit it.

Even if Nymrodel was finished talking, Ronas wasn’t. “Why do you hate me so much?”

The boy flinched at the question. He still refused to look at the human. His mouth opened once, then closed again, unsure what to say. “I don’t trust you,” he finally stated.

“Did I do something to cause that? Maybe I don’t look very trustworthy, but…,” Ronas half-joked, scratching the back of his head in thought.

Nym glared down at him. “It is all a joke to you, isn’t it?! But my Clan’s safety is not a laughing matter to me. You don’t care about the Clan, we’re just some new interest to you, aren’t we?”

“That’s not true,” Ronas responded quickly. There was no hesitation in his voice. He was serious. “I do care about the people here. About all of you.”

Nym’s eyes widened. He wanted to call Ronas a liar, but couldn’t find the justification to do so. The man was looking at him with such an honest, earnest expression. Gritting his teeth in annoyance, he continued, “Even so, to me they are my only family. I won’t let my guard down. If you ever betray us or hurt my people, I will kill you.” There was a cold glint in his eyes. The usual crystal blue was replaced by something darker. 

“Very well,” once again, Ronas answered instantly. And once again, Nym was taken aback by his words “If I ever betray these people or hurt any of you, you can kill me. I’m fine with that.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Did this guy know what he was saying? Yet the clear look in his gaze told him he did.

“But you need to promise me something in return,” Cale continued. “You need to stop hating the world. This world is a vast place, but there isn’t only bad in it. There is good too. Believe in that, at least.”

Nymrodel’s eyes stayed wide open. He didn’t know what to say, how to even respond to any of this. After a while, he collected himself and he could feel bitterness rise inside him like bile. “You don’t know anything about _my_ world,” he hissed in anger and jumped from the tree branch with his book in tow. Landing on another branch, he slid down it, before hopping from it and landing on the ground. He turned to leave, but the man behind him persisted.

“Then why don’t you tell me!” Ronas stood up, leaving the wooden carving on the ground.

The elven boy stopped in his tracks, but kept his back turned to the human. Cale continued, “What makes you so afraid? Why do you have the need to destroy anything that brings change to your Clan? You really think _that_ keeps them safe?! That just makes your world barren and uninteresting. Change isn’t always bad.”

“Shut up. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” the elf muttered, standing completely still. However, the book fell from his hands that were now balled into little fists.

Ronas didn’t stop. “You want to get angry at me, get angry! Let it all out then! You think I can’t handle one twerp,” he taunted the kid on purpose.

“Shut up!” The boy yelled at the human, turning around in an instant and charging at him as fast as his short legs could carry him. He tried to punch Ronas in the stomach, but the human easily dodged. He didn’t stop his barrage of attacks, aiming punches and kicks at the man, but all of them hit nothing but air. Emotions spilled from his heart while he attacked, shouting at the other, “What the hell do you know about me?! I failed them all when it counted! I failed my brother and my Clan! Because I wasn’t strong enough to stop my father! Because I was too kind and trusting! Even _he_ said so! Even he mocked me for it! I will never be weak like that again!”

Flashes from the past came into his mind; scenes he struggled to forget for so long. His twin brother lying on the ground with their father standing over him, a bloody blade in hand and grinning sickly. It was his father, but it wasn’t. It was a man who wasn’t even supposed to be able to use magic, yet he managed to summon a demon to get the power he needed…the power of blood magic. Power he sacrificed one of his sons for and power he used to attack the Clan, just to test it out on them. He remembered his father’s face, same yet eerily twisted as if he was someone else. Someone unrecognizable. He remembered lunging at him in anger, only to stop short with his blade. He couldn’t do it…he couldn’t kill his father. In the next moment, that man reached his hand towards him just like he did countless times before. Only this time it was different. He cast a spell, tearing Nym’s small body as something pierced through him. His own father tore through him with his blood magic like he was nothing. The two messy scars on his back were a constant reminder and they felt like they were burning him now.

He was brought back to reality by that frustrating voice in front of him. “So now you are going to spend the rest of your life wallowing in guilt and self-pity,” Ronas asked nonchalantly, easily dodging every attack Nym threw at him. He blocked his small hands and slid through the grass, before Nym’s legs could even hit the mark. They were miles apart in skill, but the elf didn’t seem to care. Or was perhaps too blinded with rage to notice it. Ronas didn’t know exactly _what_ Nym was talking about, but he knew it was better to let it out than keep it bottled up inside him. And it seemed he’s been holding it in for two years. If he wanted to vent his anger out on him, the man didn’t mind.

“So what if I am!? It has nothing to do with you!” His anger was reaching a whole new level. The frustration rose inside him, only intensified by the fact he couldn’t even touch this human in front of him. Suddenly he pulled two daggers from his belt, throwing one right towards Ronas’ face. Not waiting to see if it would hit, he charged, going for a stab with the other. The boy yelled loudly in fury as he attacked.

Ronas wasn’t even fazed by it. He simply moved his head to the side to dodge the flying blade, then slid to the side some more when Nym thrust his dagger towards his stomach. At the same time, he quickly caught Nymrodel’s wrist with one hand, and used his foot to sweep the boy off his feet.

Before he could even understand what happened, the kid found himself lying on the soft grass, looking up at the orange sky. The knife was gone from his hand, though he had no idea when that happened. He stared at the darkening sky with wide eyes, panting loudly as he tried to collect his breath. What just happened?

The sky above him disappeared when a shadow loomed over him. Ronas was kneeling beside him, still holding onto his thin wrist.

“Hate me, yell at me, attack me, get angry… Throw a tantrum if you must. It’s fine. You’re a kid, you have that right, so act like a kid. Just know that you are not alone. You have your Clan. And you have me. You are _not_ alone. You don’t need to carry everything by yourself.” Cale’s words were gentle and soft now, completely opposite from how he spoke to him before.

Nymrodel was still silent, still staring up at the two amber eyes gazing down at him. But his eyesight was cloudy, unfocused. He realized why when he felt hot, wet tears streaming down his cheeks. At first he was in such a state of shock by this, he didn’t even let out a sob. The tears just kept spilling from his wide eyes, as if a tap was opened and it wouldn’t stop anymore.

Then the adrenaline slowly subsided and a small wince escaped him. Then a sob. He covered his hot face with his forearm, embarrassed by the tears that wouldn’t stop. “Sei, I’m sorry…Ir abelas, Seiriadel,” he sobbed softly, recalling the deathly still body of his twin brother. While his body trembled from crying silently, Ronas just sat there next to him and wordlessly placed a hand on his head for comfort. Nym didn’t even have the strength to slap his hand away this time. He would never admit it, but that weight on his head felt comforting now. 

The moment was broken when they heard shouting from the camp. “We are under attack! Everyone, gather quickly!”

Nymrodel quickly sat up, wiping the remaining tears off his face.

Ronas’ expression darkened as he stared at the stirring camp. “Come on,” he muttered in a low voice. He helped the boy up and they hurried back to the camp where the elves were gathering around the campfire. By now, the darkness already fell and the first pale stars appeared in the sky.

“What’s going on!?”

All the elves were looking at the two scouts who returned from near the Ansburg city gates. “A group of templars are coming! They must be heading here for us, they will attack us!”

“We must flee!”

“There is no time. By the time we gather our supplies and herd the hall for the aravels, they will already be on us.”

“Surely, they will pursue if we try to run.”

“How much time do we have?”

“Less than an hour. They are wearing heavy armor and are marching on foot.”

“How many?”

“About 25,” the scout reported.

Frightened chatter scattered throughout the camp.

“Everyone, calm down!” As soon as Keeper Istimaethoriel spoke up, everything else fell into silence. She turned to her First, “Varalhen, take the children and the elders deeper into the forest and keep them safe.”

The man nodded, ready to leave, but her hand on his stopped him. “If anything were to happen to me, take over the Clan. You are ready,” she whispered in a voice which oozed authority. If the templars were coming, she knew that meant their true target will be the mages of the clan; Varalhen and herself. But if she keeps the battle centered on her, at least her First along with the children and elders will be safe.

Ronas went to the Keeper, whispering low even though the closer elves could hear them fine. They all had sensitive hearing, after all. “You won’t be able to flee and if you try to pull back, the kids might get involved when the Templars pursue. Your only choice is to stand your ground here and fight.”

Deshanna locked her gaze with his. “I know.” 

Clan Lavellan was a small clan. It only had four elders who were too old to take up arms and five young ones too inexperienced to fight. Everyone who was 16 or higher would have to join the battle, since they didn’t have enough manpower to leave them out of it. Luckily, all their children were taught how to fight from an early age, meaning even adolescents were skilled enough to join the battle when needed.

“Nym, I’m frightened,” a girl one year younger than him whined and pulled closer to the boy. He took her hand in his, reassuring her that everything was going to be ok. But his words sounded hollow to him. He never saw Templars fight, but from the stories, they were all dangerous and well-trained. They viciously hounded the Dalish clans for their mages and cut down anyone who stood in their way. Even if those were just fabrications, he knew every tale had at least a sliver of truth in it.

“Come children.” their First took a boy of three in his arms, while Old Maven took another girl of only 11. The elders quickly guided the children with them and were led away by Varalhen deeper into the forest.

“First, I can fight! Let me help them. I’ve been training every day,” Nymrodel rambled, pulling at Varalhen’s sleeve.

“No, da’len! You are far too inexperienced to join them. Besides, who will help me protect the ones here, hm?” The young man gave him a reassuring smile as best he could.

It didn’t help. _*It’s happening again. The Clan is in danger and I can’t help. I can’t do anything. Why?! Why am I so weak!?*_ Nym’s mind raced in despair, angry tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

“Nym,” a soft voice brought him from his panic. He looked behind him to see Lina staring at him in fear. He tightened his grip around her hand and she squeezed in return. _*At least the people here…Old Maven, Lina and everyone else. Creators, at least let me protect them!*_ Reaching a decision, he followed Varalhen into the forest without another complaint.  

Meanwhile, the Keeper was giving orders to the warriors and the hunters of the Clan. She was no strategist, but she was an intelligent woman. “We will use the forest to our advantage. We already have some traps set out there and I can make more. Leave the aravels…we have no time to conceal them.”

“But they might kill the herd and destroy our aravels,” Lemren protested.

“Scatter the halla. We can herd them later and it is better they hide in the forest than be hurt by humans. As for the aravels, we have no choice. I have to think about your lives first, that’s a priority.” Then she turned towards Cale. “What of you, friend? You are still injured and the Templars have no quarrel with you. You still have time to flee and save yourself.” This wasn’t his fight and there was no reason for him to risk his life for a Dalish clan.

On everyone’s surprise, Ronas grinned. His amber eyes burned, reflecting the light of the campfire. “Is that a serious question, Keeper? I already told you I owe my life to all of you…now I have a chance to repay it. What kind of man would I be, if I deserted my friends in their hour of need.”

The Dalish didn’t expect such an answer. When their surprise passed, they all smiled, sighing in relief.

“Crazy shem,” Brilwyn grinned, but it wasn’t said as an insult.

“Indeed,” Gelen muttered. He didn’t smile, but he gave a resigned sigh.

“We need to hurry, they’ll be here soon,” Rion interjected. He was a young man, taller and more muscular than most in his clan. His short dark-red hair burned a bright red in the light of the campfire and complimented the tanned skin and freckles around his nose. Two forest green eyes stared at the path which disappeared into the darkness, where the templars will come from. A large two-handed sword was strapped on his broad back.

“I will ask that you hear what I have to say,” Ronas announced, his voice strong and serious now. “We don’t have much time.”

The elves looked at their Keeper questioningly, but she only nodded, giving Ronas everyone’s attention.

~…..~

Knight-Commander Tancius led more than two dozen templars on foot down the narrow path. They pushed through the dark forest, cutting the shrubbery in their way. Finally they reached the small clearing where the Dalish camp stood. They could see the masts of Dalish landships rising high above the greenery around them. Even in the dark, they were visible with their red and white sails.

He stopped, raising a hand in the air to stop his men too. Pulling out his sword and taking the heavy shield in his hand, he signaled for the rest to do the same. Soon, 20 heavily armed men waited for one signal to start their slaughter. Some of them had eyes filled with bloodlust, while others sneered in anticipation.

Without a word, Knight-Commander Tancius lifted his sword and aimed it forward, giving his men the cue to move out. With a loud cheer from his troops, the Templars charged forward, expecting to burst into the elven camp and slay anything that moves. They were hoping to take the elves by surprise, but either way, they doubted the small Lavellan Clan had enough manpower to fight them off.

With a roaring cry, the templars ran among the Dalish landships, only to find nothing but darkness. The camp fire was put out and there was no one living in sight. Even the halla were missing. The men looked around the camp, confused.

“There’s no one here!”

One of them went to the campfire and felt the ash. It was still warm. “The fire was put out recently. They couldn’t have gotten far.”

Tancius narrowed his piercing dark eyes, staring at the forest through the darkness. “They must have ran and hid in the forest…fools must think we won’t be able to find them in there. We will pursue!” He turned towards his expectant men. “Move out men, there’s nothing to fear from these frail savages. Slay any elf you find in your way and when all is done, we will burn their camp to the ground!”

“Aye!” The group cheered, rising their longswords in the air before carefully proceeding into the forest.

Yet as they moved through the dark woods, the Templars started to get an eerie feeling. Some of them started to suspect they didn’t quite think this plan through. Every sound in the forest, every shadow in the darkness, made them jump.

“Spread out in four groups of five men. We will comb the area faster that way,” Tancius ordered.

The templars split up into four groups that worked their way through the forest carefully. Their steps were slow and unsure as they went deeper into the woods, deeper into the dark. It was getting hard to see.

_Hoot hoot_

And owl cried out from somewhere above them and they all jumped at the sudden sound.

“I can’t see a thing,” one of the men hissed in frustration. He made another step forward when suddenly a click sounded from below. _Snip_ A sudden slicing sound, then hot mind-numbing pain.

“Gyaaaah!” The Templar screamed in shock, falling to the ground when he realized his leg was torn apart by a bear trap. Its rusty sharp teeth were still clenching down on his calf.

Two of his comrades came to his side to help, trying to pry the trap open. The more they moved the trap, the more it mangled the man’s leg, and the more his screams echoed.

The other groups couldn’t see what happened since they split up, but they could hear the scream of terror that rushed through the forest.

“W-what was that!?” Another Templar stepped back, not realizing he too stepped into a trap. A line of rope caught at his ankle and he was pulled up, flying through the air. With a scream, the Templar flew up and was left hanging there up-side down. “Get me down, now!”

“We’ll help you!”                           

The other four rushed to cut the string that was tied to a nearby tree, but as soon as the first two men reached it, an explosion occurred. Hidden beneath the leaves was a fire glyph and it activated as soon as the men stepped on it, burning both of them severely.

On the other side, other groups didn’t fare any better, as some of them were caught in bear traps, while others froze or burned to death by the Keeper’s glyphs.

One Templar ran through the forest in panic, trying to get away from the screams of pain and shock around him, when he suddenly tripped over a thin rope and fell to the ground. As soon as he activated the trap, small wooden spikes rose from the ground, piercing his body.

The Dalish Clan may have been low on manpower and didn’t have the thick intimidating armor for cover, but they had other advantages; the land around them, their skill for quickly crafting simple traps, and their knowledge of the forest. Combined with the strategy Ronas explained to them, they could win this.

“Regroup! Everyone regroup,” Tancius roared in rage when he saw his brethren fall around him.

As soon as the warriors gathered, their backs turned to one another so they could watch the surrounding area from all sides. There were 15 of them standing back-to-back, all prepared with their shields and swords up.

Tancius glared at the trees above them. He knew those knife-ears were here somewhere, he just couldn’t see it. Narrowing his eyes, he concentrated his mind, focusing on the area around him as he summoned his Templar powers. With a shout, a burst of energy rose from within him and traveled in all directions, dispelling all magic in the area. “This should take care of those glyphs and other magical traps,” he growled. He gazed upwards again, yelling at the trees, “Show yourselves you savage little beasts!”

The shadows in the treetops moved. At first it was simply a rustling sound, like wind gently blowing through the trees. Then dark silhouettes appeared all around them, crouching on the branches. Big eyes gleamed in the darkness, while their pointy ears stood up like the leaves on the branches around them. They looked like little devils. The Templars realized they were surrounded.

A sound came from above. It wasn’t a word or a shout. It was more of an animalistic sound used as a signal. The Templars didn’t know what it was, but the Dalish did. They moved as one, the archers lifting their bows with their arrows aimed at the enemy below. Without a moment to spare, the elves set their arrows loose.

The arrows rained down on the Templars before the warriors below knew what was happening. One pierced right into the eye of a Templar standing next to the Knight-Commander.

“Raise your shields! Raise them up!” Tancius yelled at his men, already covering himself with his shield. He crouched on the ground, holding his shield up so he would be completely protected from the projectiles raining from above. Those who didn’t react on time were mowed down by the arrows. One fell to the ground as soon as an arrow pierced his neck. The other got an arrow in the leg, but survived. Some were hit in the shoulder or arm. Whether they instantly killed or just injured, no arrow missed its target. Every archer of the clan honed his skills with the bow to perfection.

Still, many Templars followed their commander’s lead in time and managed to survive. They built a metal barrier all around themselves with their shields, creating a sight that reminded of a tortoise’s shell.

“Now!” An unfamiliar voice came from somewhere above them and suddenly a rallying cry of the Dalish broke through the forest. The warriors and hunters of the Clan jumped down from the trees, right onto the shields. They were led by Gelen and Ronas, both rushing at the templars side by side.

Tancius could feel the weight on his shield, straining his hand and back that held it up. Someone had jumped right on top of him and was now trying to pierce with their blade through the openings between the shields, attempting to get at the templars inside. The man sneered in fury. Enough was enough. He needed to put these savage knife-ears in their place! Turning to his fellow men, he barked orders, “Use the holy powers within you and push them back!”

Despite the scratching and clattering sounds of metal as weapons kept scraping their shields or stabbing through, all the templars suddenly went silent. They knew what the Knight-Commander meant by his order. They concentrated their powers, then sent a burst of energy through themselves, using their shields as catalysts. It knocked their assailants back, sending them flying to the ground. Some of the elves that got knocked down looked disoriented and were left defenseless when the templars came at them.

There were only 12 elven fighters on the ground and 10 archers still crouching in the trees, aiming their arrows carefully to target the templars.

One of the Templars noticed an elven woman, knocked and dazed on the ground, ready to strike at her when Gelen suddenly appeared before him. The elf blocked the Templar’s swing with his long sword and pushed the man back, before slashing his short sword at him.

As the battle raged around them, well-aimed arrows flying ever so often at the Templars, the ground around them started to shake. Large tree roots sprung from the dirt, slamming into the Templars and sending the soldiers to the ground. One root curled around a Templar’s leg and swung him around like a rag doll, before slamming him face-first into the ground repeatedly until his mangled face became unrecognizable.

The Knight-Commander growled as he sensed magic at work. His eyes quickly darted to its source, where a woman in green robes stood, wielding a staff. He started towards her, his glare trained on the apostate mage. A root came at him but he easily cut it down, before rising his shield right in time to block an incoming arrow. He proceeded onwards without stopping, and without breaking eye-contact with the mage woman.

His men, trained to fight against magic, soon dealt with the spells around them. They used their powers to influence their surroundings, killing the magic inside the roots that made them move. They even sliced through fire and ice that was aimed at them by the Dalish Keeper. Now that the initial shock of the elves’ trap had worn off, they managed to hold their own against the Dalish warriors. Although the elves had them surrounded, the Templars were now pushing them back.

Gelen blocked another swing of the sword, before using his shoulder to push the Templar back. The man responded by swinging his shield towards the elf. Right then, a sword clad with blue fire came at him from the side. Gelen blocked, but the force behind the swing was much stronger than before, as if the man was using some hidden power inside him. Lyrium, Gelen guessed. He had to use both of his swords to block, using brute strength against the Templar to stop the sword. However, when it came to strength alone, even Gelen who was the warleader of the Clan, was lacking against a well-trained, heavy-armored warrior of the Templar Order.

The Templar raised his shield with his other hand to strike at Gelen again when suddenly an arrow pierced him through the shoulder, right in the small space between two pieces of armor. With a yelp, the man lost his focus and dropped his shield too low, giving Gelen just the opening he needed.

Keeping the long sword up in a block, he slid his short sword down, slashing horizontally towards the Templar’s neck. The sword cut in, but not all the way through. It cut deep into the neck before it stopped at the bone and the man in front of him gurgled, eyes wide in shock. Gelen slid his sword downwards, pulling it from the man’s neck, then pierced upwards. The man gasped as the blade pierced his throat, before he crumbled to the ground.

He glanced at the tree behind him, seeing Brilwyn smirk at him from above. Of course, it was her arrow. Even though she was a healer and followed Vir Atish'an - ‘The Way of Peace,’ she was still trained for combat, just like all the other Clan members, and quite talented when using a bow.   

She jumped down, running past her lover and took a small blade strapped to her thigh. She threw it at a Templar charging at them, hitting the man’s leg to make him stumble. All these templars were heavily armored and had only a few soft spots that weren’t protected. She reached the Templar and hit his head with the side of her bow, rattling his helmet. The man swung his sword at her head, but she crouched low, moving below it. Straightening up, she whirled around and raised her leg into a spinning kick, hitting the back of the man’s head with her heel. He stumbled forward while the woman elf moved behind him, trapping his head inside her bow, using the bowstring to choke him and pull him backwards.

The Templar was completely open and defenseless, perfect for Gelen to pierce him through the waist, where the breastplate ended, and slid the sword upwards to cut into the stomach. As soon as Gelen pulled back his sword, Brilwyn released the man from her bow and the other fell to the ground.

Meanwhile, the Knight-Commander and the Keeper were in a heated battle, one on one, and the warrior was relentless.

Deshanna summoned a stone wall in front of her for protection, but the man easily sliced through, then slashed at her. She jumped back and spun, using her staff to propel a fireball at him. The man hid behind his shield, using his powers to make a barrier and protect himself from the fire blast. Despite the flames lasting, Tancius moved against them and onward, using his shield for cover.

He used his powers again, this time in a blast that knocked the Keeper off her feet and cut off her next spell. Quickly reacting, she tried to cast another spell and realized she couldn’t. In panic, she tried again only to realize he must’ve momentarily blocked her magic with his last attack. Tancius swung his sword towards her, but she rolled away, taking her staff in the process. She jumped up, blocking his next sword attack as he was already on her. A blue fire spread from his sword and onto her staff, burning her hands with spirit energy. The woman cried out, but didn’t let go. Instead, she stood her ground. She knew if she panicked now, he would break her guard and cut her down.

Suddenly, a man flew from the side. Tancius noticed movement from the corner of his eye and tried to rise his shield to block, but he wasn’t fast enough. He was kicked with a stomp to his side, stumbling to the ground. He managed to keep a grip on his sword, but his shield fell down and now lay at the feet of his mysterious assailant.

The Templar glared up, only to furrow his eyebrows in confusion when he noticed the man in front of him was human. “You’re no elf, what is your connection to these Dalish? Why are you helping them?!”

The man said nothing, only spinning two long dual daggers in his hands. They glistened dangerously in the darkness, stained with blood that spilled from the tips onto the ground. He moved slowly, walking between the Keeper and Tancius, his piercing amber eyes never breaking contact with the Templar in front of him.

Tancius could tell this man was dangerous. He slowly got up, holding his sword tightly and then attacked. He was only testing the waters first, trying to evaluate this human’s mettle. However, he soon learned the other had no intention of holding back.

Ronas ran forward as the Templar swung his sword at him. Just before the weapon hit its target, the rogue disappeared, reappearing next to the Templar and already slashing with his two daggers. One sliced through the man’s arm, while the other was blocked with the sword when Tancius noticed his movements. The Templar hissed in pain, but used his free hand to create a blast of energy, yet it only ripped through air. Cale was already above him as he jumped and landed on the other side, slashing with his daggers again. This time Tancius managed to block both of them, but the quick, strong blows of Cale’s blades pushed the warrior back with each precise strike. He was being overpowered by a rogue.

Deshanna watched the fight with wide eyes, momentarily forgetting about the pain in her palms. She knew Cale had to be a trained fighter, although he never said anything and she never asked. The well-defined muscles of his body and the numerous scars on his torso, which she saw while treating him, were an obvious sign of someone experienced in battle. Still, she was shocked by how fluently the man moved, how quickly he flowed through the air and stepped on the ground, how easily he overpowered the Knight-Commander. At least he made it look easy. His each blow was strong, yet precise. His movement was almost odd, the way he shifted his body as if weightless, as if Nature’s laws didn’t affect him.

He wasn’t just a seasoned fighter, the elven mage realized. He was like an artist with a blade. A completely different man from the happy-go-lucky human he was with the Clan. She could feel his bloodlust, as if the man’s sole purpose for existing was to kill the enemy in front of him. Yet there was no rage, no anger or any other emotion. Just cold, calculating movements to bring an end to his target. A tenacity to kill and proficiency with a blade – that was all Ronas had at that moment.

The long sword swished through the air, making a whizzing sound every time it missed its target and cut nothing. Then a metallic sound was heard, as the sword struck two crossed blades that kept it at bay in a block. It scraped against the steel as Tancius pressed into the blades with all his strength, but Ronas only grit his teeth and pushed back. Then suddenly his whole weight was gone and the rogue disappeared, leaving the Templar to stumble forward as he lost his balance. The rogue sidestepped and used both blades to slash at the arm of the other. He used the daggers like scissors, crossing them at the left elbow - which was unarmored - and sliced the limb clean off.

“Yaargh!” The Knight-Commander screamed in pain.

Cale didn’t stop, passing by his enemy until he was behind him in an instant, and stomping at his lower back to push him on the ground.

The warrior rolled on the ground and quickly got to his knees. He grabbed his sword with his right hand, the only one left, and stabbed it to the ground to summon his power.

A circle of light appeared around Ronas, which turned into a pillar all around the rogue. Narrowing his eyes, he tried to escape it, but it was in vain. He was trapped inside.

“You might not be able to exit it, but my sword can enter,” Tancius hissed, grinning madly. His eyes burned with pain and madness from both fury and blood-loss. His face was deathly pale, but there was bloodlust written all over it. This wasn’t just a job that paid well anymore. This was personal. He took out a phial of blue liquid and downed it in one gulp. Lyrium. The excited glint in his eyes intensified as his grin widened. He cackled softly, sounding psychotic. Then he summoned his blue fire again and pressed it against his left arm, burning the open wound until it stopped bleeding. “Ghaaaaghahahaha!” His howl of pain turned into laughter, before he took another flask; this time the liquid inside was as red as blood. He drank the healing potion and it was enough to relieve him from the pain.

On the other hand, Ronas was completely calm despite his circumstances. His expression was still blank. Emotionless. As if he wasn’t even surprised or distressed by this situation. That only fueled the Knight-Commander’s rage.

At the same time, Deshanna noticed her magic had returned. Analyzing her injured palms, she healed them with her mana. She glanced back up, just in time to see the Templar rushing at the pillar of light, swinging his sword to decapitate her friend inside. “Oh no, you don’t,” she whispered, her gaze darkening as she glared at the man’s back. She lifted her staff, summoning her power and a new, green light, appeared at the ground where the pillar of light was created. The green light swallowed up the white one until the prison completely vanished. She had dispelled the Knight-Commander’s ability right on time.

Without changing his expression, Ronas leaned backwards so far towards the ground that the blade passed above him, only inches away from his nose. Then he bent backwards even more, putting his hands on the ground for support while kicking his legs in the air. The tip of his boot hit the Templar’s wrist and the sword was kicked away from his hand.

“Huh?” Tancius didn’t even realized what had happened until Ronas once again stood before him and the sword clattered onto the ground, away from him. He glanced quickly at his weapon, wondering if he’ll be fast enough to get to it before the other attacks.

“You won’t make it,” Ronas spoke, for the first time since their fight started. Both of his dual daggers were aimed at the Templar, one hand reached out in front of him while the other pulled back, the blade near his cheek. He stood in this position stoically, waiting for the warrior to make his move. 

Tancius cackled again. “We shall see.” Since he was powered up with lyrium, he felt even stronger than before. He could see the mage knife-ear stirring at the corner of his eye. She aimed her staff at him from the flank, while the rogue stayed at his front. The Templar grinned. Concentrating his powers, he made another powerful push with his energized force. The blast was stronger than the ones before and it even took the rogue by surprise this time. It blasted in all directions, knocking both the apostate and the rogue away and to the ground. Using this opportunity, he jumped and grabbed the hilt of his sword, turning his attention to the mage. It was better to deal with her first.

She scrambled for her staff, her other hand reaching in front of her to cast a spell. A wall of ice appeared before her, but the Templar cut through it with one powerful swing of his weapon. Yet, as the wall crumbled, the mage was gone. There was nothing but shards of ice on the other side.

Tancius looked around in erratic confusion, searching for his opponent who seemingly vanished into thin air. He sensed her magic nearby and turned in time to see Ronas standing behind him, the elven woman in tow. He put her down and gazed back at the warrior.

“Stop getting in my waaaay!” With a war cry, the Templar charged again and slashed at the rogue, only to realize the man had lowered his stance and slid beneath the blade. He kicked at him with his knee, sure that the rogue had nowhere to run now, but Ronas blocked with both forearms before it could connect with his face. Tancius slashed again, this time vertically, but the man once again dodged by stepping sideways, then jumping up when the sword changed direction.

In the air, the rogue threw one of his daggers and it lodged between Tancius’ neck and shoulder. He screamed in pain, but ignored it, instead turning around towards the rogue and swinging just as the man was landing on his feet. Again he failed, as Ronas blocked the sword with one remaining dagger.

Cale’s movement changed again. It looked as if he disappeared, but it was simply a trick of the eye from his quick motion. Instead, he moved towards the Templar. Stepping forward, he slid his dagger along the longsword. The friction created small sparks on the scrapping metal. When he was close enough, he punched the warrior straight in the face with his free hand. Blood gushed from Tancius’s nose and mouth, but he stood his ground.

Too late did he realize it was only a distraction. By the time he recovered, Ronas already had his straightened arm in a tight grip, his remaining dagger sheathed on his back. He held his wrist with one hand and punched upwards into his elbow with the other, breaking the man’s arm.

Once again, Tancius roared in pain, this time letting go of his weapon. Ronas still held his wrist when he pulled the man towards him and elbowed him in the face. More blood spilt over the Templar’s face, clouding his vision. Gripping his remaining wrist tighter, the rogue stepped behind the man’s back, wrapping his own broken arm around his neck and pulled, suffocating the man slowly.

The Keeper watched the scene with mouth agape. _*This isn’t even a fair fight. Their level of skill are completely different! The Knight-Commander was powerless against him from the start,*_ she finally understood.

Holding him in place despite his struggling, Ronas took out the dagger from Tancius’ shoulder and aimed it at the back of his neck, where there was no armor to shield him. Just as he was about to push the dagger in, an explosion sounded from deeper into the forest.

For the first time, Ronas’s eyes widened. He could see fires in the distance, where Varalhen took the elders and the kids.

“The children,” Deshanna exclaimed in freight.

He pushed the blade forward, ignoring the choking gasp that came from his opponent and let the body hit the floor. The Knight-Commander was still alive, choking slowly in his own blood, but he was already harmless.

He glanced behind him at the battle. Some elves were injured, but they were holding their own against the remaining Templars.

“You are faster, you will get to them sooner,” The Keeper spoke to him. “I will end things here.” Her skin was now covered in hard ironbark, her whole body enveloped in natural armor. Gripping her staff, she nodded at the rogue to move out. She already realized he had no problem moving or fighting in the darkness, like he was used to it.

Cale wanted to promise her that he won’t let anyone die, but he knew he couldn’t make such a promise. It was too naive. Nobody can predict what happens in battle, not even someone as experienced as him. So he stayed quiet and instead wasted no time. He sheathed his daggers on his back while running through the woods as fast as his legs could carry him.

Deshanna watched him go, before she noticed droplets of blood where Ronas was standing a moment ago. She noticed it before too, the small bloodstains on his vest even though the Templar didn’t injure him _. *You might be strong, but even your body has limits,*_ she mused sadly, worry written on her face.                                                                    

* * *

 

 Glossary:

_Ir abelas_ – I am sorry.

_Vir Atish'an_ – lit. "The Way of Peace." It is Sylaise's code. Dalish following this calling learn the arts of the healer and the mender.

_Da’mi / Da’mis:_ little blade. An endearment used, usually for hunters or warriors, but can be used for anyone. Typically used to describe someone who is stubborn, but effective. Someone who goes to get what they want, and someone who does something regardless of consequence. It is usually used by someone more experience/older towards someone less experienced/younger.

_Hahren_ \- elder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to split the chapter again because it was 50 pages. XD So this is 2/3 parts of this "history" Arc. (It was supposed to be all in one chapter, yet it turned into a small Arc. :') The next one will be the last, I promise.)  
> These fight scenes are pretty fun to write. :3  
> Thank you all for reading and see you as soon as I proofread the next part!


	4. Hanal'ghilan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!  
> So this will be the last part of the History Arc, and then it's back to the present.  
> Please enjoy.

Three of the Templars got separated from their group while they were scouring the area. They could hear the screams in the distance and smell smoke of fires made from magic, but had trouble navigating through the dark forest to rejoin their comrades.

Instead, they stumbled upon a curious sight; a bunch of elven children and their elderly, huddled together in a small crevice beneath a fallen tree. They hid among its roots that were dug out of the ground from the tree’s fall, creating a small cavern of wood and dirt.

The elves tried to stay as quiet as possible when they heard someone coming, but the Templar men could sense the First’s magic. Hiding was no use.

“Well, well, what do we have here,” one of them grinned widely.

They unsheathed their swords. The hiss of blades sliding against metal scabbards sent a chill down the children’s spine. One of the templars stepped towards them, then abruptly stopped, his body shaking with pain. 

“Gah!” He screamed in surprise as a bolt of lightning struck him, sending jolts of pain through his bones.

The others fared no better. They soon realized they were surrounded by bolts of small lightning that would occasionally shoot down from the sky.

“Not a step further, leave them alone. Your battle is with me,” Varalhen hissed dangerously as he moved behind them.

“He trapped us in a cage of lightning,” a Templar growled, glaring at the mage.

“Damn apostate knife-ear. Don’t think that will be enough to stop us,” another muttered.

“We shall see,” the elf answered, spinning the wooden staff in his hands. He sent a barrage of spirit energy towards them. The templars had nowhere to dodge and the energy hit them like physical blows, tossing them around the cage and into more electricity.

The men fell to the ground, but responded quickly. One summoned his powers around him and dispelled the cage. The other two channeled their powers towards the mage, piercing his very soul with it.

Varalhen stumbled back with a pained yelp, but stood his ground as the three warriors charged at him. He blocked the sword of the first and spun the staff to strike him on the head with it. Then used the end of the staff to strike the other in the stomach as he ran into him. He wasn’t ready for the third, however, who used his shield to push him back and send him to the ground. Varalhen rolled on the ground until he was kneeling and pressed his palm in the dirt. Sharp spikes of stone traveled from his hand towards the Templars.

One of them knelt down, putting his shield to the ground and cut off the magic, stopping the spikes coming towards him. The other wasn’t as lucky, and the spikes pierced through his legs. He shrieked in pain and fell down, just as more spikes rose through the earth. One pierced his throat, while the other went through his eye. Soon, the body was completely riddled with holes, the man’s blood wetting the ground around him.

The third Templar was the most vicious. As the mage went to stand up, finishing his spell, he threw his long sword and pierced the unsuspecting elf in the shoulder. With a pained grunt, Varalhen fell to his back from the sudden blow. In a moment, the warrior was on him, slamming the rim of his shield into Varalhen’s chest. The elf gasped as all air left his body, before screaming in pain when the Templar slid his sword from his shoulder, only to rise it again. He was ready to pierce the elf when a sudden pain caught him off guard.

“No!” With a frightened scream, an elven boy with white hair ran up to the Templar and slammed his dagger into the back of his knee. The blade went through, making the Templar stumble.

“Nymrodel! Don’t,” Varalhen cried out when he saw the boy interfere, risking his own life for the First.

But the second Templar already joined them and he kicked the boy hard in the ribs, sending him flying sideways.

“No!” Varalhen called out and tried to get up, but the Templar’s shield held him in place on the ground. The tip of a sword on his neck stopped him from moving. “Don’t move,” the Templar whose knee was now bleeding still managed to stand, shifting his weight on his good leg. He held the mage down, threatening to cut him open with his sword if he moved even one inch. 

Nymrodel coughed in pain, holding his ribs as his small body trembled. He still had his other dagger and he quickly glared up and threw it towards the other man, who was walking towards him. Unfortunately the knife hit the man’s breastplate and simply ricocheted off the heavy armor. The warrior smirked at the boy, before kicking him again, this time in the chest. The air rushed out of Nym’s lungs and he landed on his back, panting. A heavy boot landed on his small chest and pressed him into the dirt, making the elf wince.

“Please, don’t! He’s only a child!”

Nym could hear the First yelling something, but his ears were ringing from the pain. His chest burned. He saw a bright glimmer of the Templar’s blade when he raised it high in the air, the tip shining under the moonlight. He closed his eyes, expecting his life to end any moment now. _*I’m sorry everyone…In the end, I was too weak to protect them.*_ The sword fell down in a crescent swing, but the pain of the blow never came. Instead, only a wet sound of a blade cutting through something soft reached his ears. The boy opened his eyes slowly and then widened them in shock. There was a shadow looming over him and two amber eyes stared down at him. The person protected him from the attack.

“You alright, kid,” Ronas asked. He looked more serious than usual. He had a slightly pained expression, but he barely showed any discomfort. As if he was just pricked by a needle rather than slashed by a sword in the back.

Nymrodel wasn’t able to respond as he only stared at the man above him. “Why,” he whispered, his mind muddled by confusion. This human just took a blow for him. He risked his life for an elven child he only met a couple of weeks ago. The boy didn’t understand why Ronas kept going so far for him.

The rogue didn’t answer, his attention already on the Templar above them. The warrior still held a foot on Nym’s small body, with his sword next to Ronas’ head.

“What the-?” The man looked just as surprised by this turn of events, but he had no time to react.

Ronas stood up. He grabbed the man’s forearm, holding it tightly so his sword arm was unmovable. He didn’t want his arm to jerk and accidentally cut Nym who was still too close to the weapon. The rogue jabbed the tips of his fingers into the man’s throat with his other hand, making the Templar stumble backwards and move away from the elf boy. As soon as Nymrodel was free, he dragged himself away from the two battling men.

Everything happened so quickly, Nym could hardly keep track. He never saw Ronas like this; he was serious and deadly. His skilled movements were fast and precise.

The Templar swung his sword at the rogue’s neck and the man was close enough to make dodging impossible. At least it should have been. Nymrodel’s big, wide eyes reflected the strange sight of Ronas leaning all the way back on his heels, the tip of the sword missing his neck by an inch. He should have fallen on his back from the movement, but he didn’t. Instead, he landed on his hands, while his feet went up and wrapped around the man’s arm which was still gripping the sword. Ronas twisted his body and pulled down the Templar down with his feet, sending him to the ground by his arm. In one fluid motion, the rogue was back on his feet, kicked the sword from the man’s hand and then crouched on top of him. Unsheathing one dagger from his back, he spun it in his hand and slashed with it beneath the man’s helmet, slitting his neck in one quick move.

“Heavy armors are too thick for a dagger to cut through, so always look for openings between the armor pieces instead,” he muttered, glancing at Nymrodel as if he was teaching the boy a simple lesson.

Nym just blinked, his jaw slack from what he was witnessing. He still couldn’t speak, too shocked to utter a single reply. Instead, he just nodded his head in understanding.

“You bastard!” The other Templar was still holding Varalhen on the ground and decided to finish the job before turning his attention to the rogue. He didn’t get the chance as the First took the opportunity of his distraction to cast a spell. With his mind he created a blast that sent the man flying off him. His heavy armor clattered as he tumbled to the ground.

“You’re finished,” Varalhen hissed with narrow eyes, giving his foe a murderous glare. “Nobody threatens my Clan.” He helped himself up with his staff and pointed it at the Templar.

The warrior growled and charged at the mage, swinging his sword in a downward cut, but it was blocked by one long dagger. Ronas was standing beside him, the dagger stopping the movement of the sword.

Then he quickly slid behind his opponent, thrusting the other dagger into his spine, just above his unarmored waist. The man gasped, his body trembling in pain. His eyes widened when the Templar noticed a tip of a dagger closing in on his face. With one dagger held in the man’s back, Ronas aimed the other at the open slit in the man’s helmet. It went in and stabbed the man right through the eye.

At the same time, Varalhen rose his hand and Ronas quickly slid his daggers out of the enemy and jumped in a side-roll, right as the mage cast his spell. The Templar’s body went up in flames, the man screaming as he cooked alive in his thick armor. With smoke still coming from the openings between his armored plates, the man’s charred remains fell to the ground. 

Ronas sighed as their fight finally finished. He sheathed back his daggers, feeling the pain and exhaustion taking over. With a grimace, the man fell to one knee.

“Cale!” Nym ran up to him and used his small shoulders as support to hold the human from falling to the ground. He could see blood dripping from his body and staining the dirt. He gazed up to see a large bloodstain across his back. There was another bloodstain at his side and the boy realized Ronas’ old wounds reopened. “Your injuries…,” he started in a faint voice, giving the human a pained expression despite Cale being the one hurt.

“Da’len, let me.” Varalhen knelt in front of Ronas, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder. The hand glowed with a gentle blue light, but before he could proceed, Ronas took his wrist to stop him.

“Wait.” His head turned to the white-haired boy. “If you want to heal someone, heal the kid first. He took some beating from that bastard,” the rogue muttered,

“I’m fine. You are far worse off than I am,” Nym protested, but he was still doubled over, clutching his pained side.

Varalhen gave Ronas a thankful smile. “I will heal him, so you take this instead.” He gave him a healing potion. “It won’t heal you completely, but it will stop the bleeding and numb the pain, at least.” He then turned towards Nym and used his magic on the boy. The blue light washed over him, healing his bruised body and invigorating him.

Varalhen, himself, didn’t look so well. He was ashen pale from exhaustion, using as much magic as he did. His shoulder had stopped bleeding, but it still pained him and the blood-loss didn’t help.

The other elves of the group slowly walked over to them, the young elven girl running up to Nym and hugging him tightly in fear. Too tightly. His wounds were healed, but the ache still lingered. It will take some time before it subsides. The boy grunted in pain as he was reminded of the blows that Templar gave him. The Templar who was now lying on the ground, killed by Cale. He gazed back at the resting rogue, remembering the quick, almost unnatural movements of his body as he fought. They were different from how their hunters moved. Those warriors, despite being heavily armed and armored, didn’t stand a chance. Once again, Nymrodel wondered who exactly this man was.

~……~

The Keeper hit her foe in the chest with the end of her staff. The man doubled forward, giving her an opening to hit him across the back with the staff’s head. With that, the last warrior was on the ground. One of the archers finished him off by knocking an arrow into his back. From such a short distance, the arrowhead pierced the Templar’s armor easily. With one last grunt, the man stopped breathing.

“We dealt with the last of them,” Gelen informed her.

She nodded, glancing worriedly at the forest where Ronas ran off. “Send a runner to get Varalhen’s group back, but tell them to tread carefully…we don’t know what happened there yet. If the Templars-,” she started, but couldn’t finish.

Even Gelen’s usually sour expression twisted into worry as he stared down. They were both thinking the same thing. There was a possibility the Templars found them and Cale failed, meaning they slaughtered everyone there.

Just then, one elf called out to the Keeper. “They’re back! It’s the First!”

 With eyes wide, Deshanna stared at a group walking towards them. The children and the elderly looked unharmed. Varalhen appeared to be a little worse for ware, but Ronas looked even worse – he was obviously suffering from bloodloss. The First helped him walk, but he had trouble standing upright.

Yet the Keeper let out a relieved sigh. They were beaten up, but alive. They were all alive. She could feel tears forming in the corner of her eyes, but it was too soon to celebrate. They weren’t safe yet.

“Keeper!” Varalhen ran over to Deshanna in relief. “I’m so glad everyone’s safe.”

“Half of our fighters are injured, but none dead,” Gelen reported.

Deshanna smiled. “Good.”

“And now you have one more wounded,” Ronas cracked a grin as he limped over to them. “Not that I’m complaining,” he joked as if he wasn’t fighting for his life just a few moments ago.

The Keeper sighed. “You can jest even now. Honestly, you are one strange man, _lethallin_.”

“Lethallin?” Ronas wasn’t sure what the word meant, although he did hear it a few times when the elves addressed each other.

The Keeper smiled along with the rest of the clan. “After everything you have done for us, you deserve to be considered as Vhenallin – a friend of the People. Lethallin means you are one of us now. One of the Clan Lavellan,” she explained. “If you accept it, of course,” she added.

“The proper ceremony for this will have to wait when we are out of danger,” the First smirked.

Ronas was taken aback, amazed that the Dalish would bestow such an honor on him – an outsider. “I….it would be an honor. Thank you.” He was at a loss for words.

“Never thought I’d see the day that a human becomes one of us,” Gelen commented. Despite his constant frown, the man didn’t actually look displeased. Everyone, including Ronas, already learned Gelen just had a very strict personality. But as serious as he was, he was also a very honorable man.

The Keeper came up to Ronas and raised her hand in front of his chest. Just like with Varalhen, it glowed, although her magic was pure white. The sparkling white flowed from her hand and enveloped the man. Slowly, his wounds completely closed. “Your wounds are healed, but you are still weak. You need rest,” she warned.

The rogue nodded, but the humor was now lost from his eyes as he stared at something behind her. “After.” His gaze was glued to a lone survivor among the Templars. The warrior was bound and two elves guarded him, although he was too injured to escape anyway. The young man trembled in fear, his eyes darting around as if looking for salvation that wouldn’t come.

Seeing Cale’s stare, Gelen spoke, “He says they were paid by a noble in the city to take care of us. He wants to claim this land, so we were in the way. Lord Endfall is his name.”

“And they needed to kill the whole clan for that,” Ronas asked darkly.

“I doubt they _needed_ to…they just wanted to,” Deshanna muttered. “More Templars will come when they realize what happened. Also, the Margrave of Ansburg might see this as an attack by the Clan, so he might even send the City Guard after us. We need to pack up and leave as fast as we can.”

“But where will we go?” The question was soft and came from somewhere below them. They all looked down to see Nymrodel’s big blue eyes staring up at them. The boy was born near these parts, he’s never been anywhere else.

Keeper Istimaethoriel kept silent for a while, her soft gaze staring at the boy while she thought about it. Then her gaze hardened as she decided. “North. We’ll follow the Minanter River further north until we reach Wycome.”

She then turned to her First. “Varalhen, take a small group with you to herd the halla back. The rest of us will prepare the aravels for departure. We leave with first light.” Her attention focused back on Cale, “What about you, lethallin? If you want, you can stay with Clan Lavellan as long as you want. We have already accepted you as one of our own.”

Ronas was silent for a while, contemplating her words. He wanted to stay, he truly felt like this Dalish clan was closest to a family he had in a long time. But he was also afraid he would only bring more trouble to the elves. Then he looked at Nymrodel who was helping with the packing and remembered Deshanna’s words, _‘If you plan on digging up the past and unraveling his emotions, be prepared to be there for him when he needs you.’_ She was right. _*I can’t just leave now and leave the kid behind,*_ he thought with a small smile, gazing at the boy.

Deshanna noticed him staring at Nymrodel, but she stayed silent. This had to be _his_ decision so she chose not to interfere no matter what he decided.  

He looked back at the woman. “I want to stay. But there is something I need to do first. You said you are leaving with first light, so I still have a couple of hours.”

The Keeper furrowed her eyebrows in worry. “What do you intend to do?”

Ronas just gave her a knowing look. “This Lord Endfall will consider you a loose end. Even if you leave and he gets his land, there will be too many questions concerning the Templars’ deaths and he’ll be afraid somebody will find out the truth. He will still send people after you to tie up those loose ends,” he explained.

The mage sighed. “I want to tell you this is pure speculation, but you probably speak the truth. It makes sense,” she answered sadly. “So what are you planning?”

“By what our prisoner Templar said, Lord Endfall only worked with the Knight-Commander on this. So if the noble is dealt with, we should be fine,” he explained. “Since the noble wanted to be the first to claim the land, nobody else knows of their deal.”

“Dealt with….,” Deshanna repeated with a scowl. She knew exactly what that meant, but she didn’t like it. “And you intend to go _deal_ with this noble alone? You might not come back!”

He gave her a smile, but it never reached his tired eyes. “I will _persuade_ him to cease his attacks against you, that’s all. The less you know, the better. Don’t worry about me…I’m used to such things,” he added. He was vague, but the implication was clear.

“Are you an assassin,” the Keeper asked directly. No more games. “Nobody will think less of you if you tell the truth, lethallin. You have already proven yourself, we all know how much you did for us.”

Ronas sighed. “I was. Not anymore…But it’s hard to outrun the past. It catches up to you sooner or later. At least, this time, I can use my skills to protect Clan Lavellan.”

“Perhaps if we take the surviving Templar to the Margrave and explain the situation? Make him understand what Lord Endfall did to us?”

“And what if he doesn’t believe you, or he finds you at fault anyway? The Clan would be at the City’s mercy then,” he countered.

Deshanna carried a troubled expression when she finally agreed. “Do as you must. Take our Hart, Lillin. She can carry you to the city faster.”

“Thank you. I’ll also need the prisoner’s armor.” He pointed at the trembling youth.

“What of the prisoner,” Gelen asked as he walked over to them, glancing over at the Templar with distrust.

Ronas and the Keeper exchanged sorrowful looks.

He looked young and inexperienced, so he was probably just following orders from his superiors. That didn’t excuse what he tried to do to the elves, but it was a shame for him to be executed for his foolishness. Even so, as unfair as it might seem, they all knew what needed to be done. If he was kept alive, he would most likely tell the Order or the Margrave what happened here and the City might take up arms in revenge. Or at least the Templar Order might, their pride not allowing them to leave the Dalish be after killing their men. 

The Keeper nodded wordlessly to Gelen and the other instantly understood. He took two hunters with him, untied the youth and they led him deep into the forest, away from curious eyes. After some time, only the three elves returned.

~……~

While the Dalish prepared for departure, Cale put the Templar armor he previously took off the youth in a sack. He tied it to the Hart’s saddle, scratching the animal on the neck as he whispered to her gently.

“Are you leaving?”

He turned around the see Nym looking up at him with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher.

The man smirked. “I’ll be back, kid. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Usually Nymrodel would roll his eyes or get annoyed by such a joke, but not this time. He stayed serious, avoiding Cale’s gaze as he stared at the Hart instead. “Why…did you risk your life for me? You even let the First take care of my injuries before yours.” He looked up at Ronas desperately, as flood of unstoppable words started flowing from his mouth. He spoke fast as if in a rush to lay it all out there, “I’m not even your family or clan member. I don’t understand what you were thinking!? Even though….even though you could’ve died! Why? Why do you keep appearing before me? Why do you keep looking after me no matter what I say to you? I was never nice to you, I even tried to kill you while you were still unconscious, and yet you….you….” Nym was lost for words. He could feel emotions welling up in his chest, just like when he fought with Cale before. He tried his best to stifle them. It was so much easier when he just kept to himself and kept all of his emotions bottled up inside of him.

 He was interrupted when Ronas put two hands on his shoulders. They looked so big and heavy there, on those tiny shoulders that trembled. “You know…I’m not a good person, Nym.” The boy blinked up at him in wonder as Cale spoke. “It’s not like I go around sacrificing myself for others out of habit or anything. I’m actually a good-for-nothing guy and a vagabond. I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life, so you don’t need to worry about me or give my sympathy. I just didn’t want you to die, kid, that’s all. I just selfishly decided to save you on my own, so you don’t need to feel indebted to me or anything. It’s as simple as that,” he smiled warmly at the boy.

Nymrodel opened his mouth to say something, but the human already turned to mount the Hart. He felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down at the elf. Nym had his head bowed, staring at the ground rather than looking at him, even as he spoke, “You’re going to come back, right? I’ll prepare an offering for you, since you are now Vhenallin, so you better come back to receive it.”

Ronas didn’t know what the ceremony for becoming one of the Clan entailed, but from Nymrodel’s words he guessed he was to receive something like a gift from the elves. He grinned widely at the boy and climbed on his mount. “I look forward to it, kid.”

Nym looked up at the rogue, giving him a confident smile and nodding. “Dareth shiral, Ronas.”

It was the first time he smiled at him, Ronas realized, and he felt proud for having accomplished that. Ronas clicked his tongue at the Hart and pushed his heels lightly into its sides, signaling for it to move. With a long neigh, the Hart carried him down the path and towards Ansburg.

~…..~

Even though it was already the middle of the night, Lord Endfall was not in his bed sleeping. Sleep wouldn’t come to him as long as his business remained unfinished. There was still no word from Knight-Commander Tancius. Even though it’s been hours, the Templars still haven’t come back.

The noble walked over to the balcony doors of his bed chamber and spread them wide open. The night air was crisp as autumn days slowly ended and winter crept closer.

“What’s taking that fool so long,” he muttered under his breath, glaring in the direction of the forest where the Dalish camp should be.

He could barely make out the treetops in the darkness, far beyond the city walls surrounding Ansburg. His three-story mansion stood on a hill where the richest people of Ansburg lived, their houses towering over the lowers parts of the city where the common folk were. His balcony overlooked the city, offering a spectacular view, but the noble hardly cared about that. He wasn’t the one to admire the view or to ‘stop and smell the roses’ when there was work to be done, power to be had and money to be gathered.

A knock on his doors interrupted his thoughts and startled him. The lord turned towards his chamber doors, “What is it?!”

An elven servant opened his doors timidly. “My Lord, there is someone from the Templar Order here to see you. He says it’s about a certain business you discussed earlier?” The servant obviously didn’t know exactly what this business was about, so he nervously glanced between his lord and the person waiting in the hall. Even so, his eyes never traveled further up than their feet, lest he offends them.

“Finally!” Lord Endfall walked to the center of the room. “Yes, yes, let him in,” he hurried his servant, impatient to hear the good news.

The servant opened the doors more and let a man inside. He wore the usual heavy armor with the Templar insignia, along with the helmet that covered everything but his eyes and mouth. The man walked silently into the room, giving a slight bow to the noble, while the servant closed the doors behind him and gave the two men privacy. They were left alone in the noble’s room. 

“Why are _you_ here and not the Knight-Commander? No matter, no matter, I suppose for simple information, you will do,” he cut the man off before he could speak. “So tell me, has my little problem been taken care of?”

The Templar nodded without speaking. Then he held out his hand, waiting to receive the rest of the payment that was promised.

The noble scrunched up his nose as if in disgust. “I would rather leave the matters of payment to Tancius…” He eyed the Templar dubiously, who just kept still and silent, but his held out hand didn’t budge. Finally, the noble sighed. “Not much for words, are you? You lot are so peculiar. Very well, I shall give it to you, but I don’t want to hear Tancius complaining about not receiving the money, afterwards!” He walked over to his desk and grabbed a heavy pouch of gold from a locked drawer. Handing over the pouch to the Templar, Endfall spoke, “This was the agreed amount after the job was done.”

As soon as Endfall’s hand came close enough, the Templar’s gauntleted hand closed around his. The pouch fell from his hand and for a second everything seemed to the noble as if it was happening in slow-motion. So quick that Endfall only had time to let out a startled gasp, the Templar pulled him in and spun him around. The whole room turned with him, leaving the noble in a confused daze. The pouch of gold still hadn’t even hit the floor when the noble realized his back was turned to the Templar now.

With a flick of his wrist, a narrow blade slid from out his gauntlet and the Templar easily caught it in his hand. A quick feat one wouldn’t expect from a slow warrior. The noble was still puzzled, the pouch still falling to the ground, as one hand clasped over Endfall’s mouth, and the other slid the blade across his throat. Endfall’s eyes widened, his one scream muffled by the hand over his mouth. The pouch of gold fell to the ground, scattering the coins everywhere across the room. The Templar eased the dead body to the ground so it wouldn’t make a sound. In the next moment, Lord Endfall was dead.

A knock was heard on the door, but no answer came from Endfall’s bedchamber.

Another knock with the servant calling out this time. “My Lord, a heard a noise. Is everything alright?” Waiting for a moment, the servant finally dared to push the doors ajar. There was still no answer from the noble or his visitor.

The man opened the doors completely and gasped at the sight that awaited him inside. The body of his dead lord was lying face-down on the floor, blood pooling around his neck. Golden coins were scattered around the body, many of them stained with dark red droplets of blood. Beside the body laid an abandoned armor with the Templar Order insignia and a single bloodstained dagger.

“My lord! Lord Endfall!” The servant screamed, calling for help and frantically searching around the room for the culprit, yet there was no one besides him there. His screams were carried outside and into the night, through the opened balcony doors. The drapes fluttered on the autumn wind. That sound got the servant’s attention and he looked towards the balcony. Even though it looked like the only possible exit for the murderer, the bedchamber was on the third floor of the mansion and escaping from that height seemed an impossible feat, yet there was no other explanation. The man gulped in fear and called for help one more time.

~…..~

First light of the dawn appeared on the horizon when Ronas approached the Lavellan camp on Lillin. He dismounted her, smiling weakly to the Dalish elves that greeted him.

“You’re back!” Marenaya, one of the elven children ran up to the human and encircled his torso with her small arms. The force of her collision almost sent the man to the ground. His wounds were healed, but he was still weak from blood-loss. He managed to stay upright and patted her head. He didn’t want to worry anyone, especially the little ones.

The elves were already set to depart. Their halla were back and tied to the aravels that they would pull. Everything was set to start their journey north, towards Wycome.

Some of the elves surrounded him. “Welcome back,” Brilwyn grinned.

“We almost lost hope you’d make it in time,” Gelen added, overly blunt.

“Hope, huh? Ronas gave him a sideways glance with a sly smirk. “So you _do_ care, Gelen! I knew it,” he teased.

“Oh shut it, crazy shem,” the warrior elf sighed in annoyance. Once again there was a deep crease where he furrowed his eyebrows.

“Of course we knew you’d come back!” Rion, the redheaded warrior, chirped happily. He didn’t seem worried at all. The elf gave Ronas some support as the other walked. Since Rion usually wielded a two-handed sword, he had no problem propping the human up with his shoulder.

The Keeper approached them. “Aneth ara, lethallin. Were you successful?” She looked relieved by his return, but there was a glint of sadness in her green eyes. There was no love lost because of Lord Endfall’s end, but she felt guilty that Ronas was forced to do such dirty work, even if it was for the Clan’s safety. It was obvious he wanted to leave that life behind, yet it still haunted him.

The rogue nodded once, a dark air surrounding him for a moment, before he broke the tense atmosphere. He yawned loudly, not even caring to cover his mouth. “Now if I can just get some sleep….for about hundred years,” he joked. He winked at the elven woman, grinning.

Deshanna rolled her eyes and shook her head, but she cracked a small sincere smile in return. “You can rest in one of the aravels while we travel.”

“Oooh, I wanted to travel in one of those since the first time I saw its insides,” Ronas exclaimed like an excited child. He was back to his old self and his new friends felt relieved by that fact.

~…..~

Cale cracked one eye open as he sensed a familiar presence next to his bedroll. He was still in the landship, traveling with the Dalish caravan. He got a good few hours of sleep and finally felt rested enough to move.

Looking up, he saw Nymrodel sitting beside his bedroll as if waiting for him to wake up. The boy jumped in surprise and glanced nervously around the aravel. He probably didn’t expect Cale to suddenly open his eyes.

“Y-you’re awake,” the elf stated the obvious, suddenly feeling anxious. He didn’t quite know how to act around him.

Cale thought it was cute how the kid fumbled around looking for words, but knew he’d probably get stabbed by Nym if he said that out loud. “Yep. Feeling strong and rested.” He grinned, then noticed the boy was holding something in his small hands. “Is that for me? The offering thing you talked about?”

Nymrodel nodded and wordlessly handed him a piece of wooden carving. He examined it carefully. It was a wooden halla statue, carved with great care and detail. The Dalish would smile upon the trinket, saying June had bestowed some talent on the boy. It was on a whole different level from his sad attempts at craftsmanship. _*And here I naively thought I was getting better, yet my wooden toys are crap compared to this,*_ he thought disappointedly.

“It’s not finished yet, I still have to paint it,” Nym spoke up.

“Paint it?”

“In a golden color. It’s supposed to be Hanal'ghilan – a golden halla.” Nym noticed the curious look Ronas was giving him and explained, “Hanal'ghilan is a mythical golden halla that is said to appear during times of great need for the Dalish. We call her the Pathfinder. I thought it would be fitting considering you appeared so suddenly and then helped save our Clan…right when we needed it most, you appeared. For me too,” he added the last statement softly, feeling embarrassed by his honesty. Quickly, he changed the subject, “And also…maybe it can help you find your own path you seem to be seeking. Maybe it was Hanal'ghilan that led you to us.” He sounded much more mature than one would expect from a 13 year-old. 

The rogue looked truly touched by the gift. He smiled brightly at Nymrodel and reached out to rustle his hair. This time, Nym didn’t swat his hand away. “Thank you, kid. I’ll treasure it.”

“I…I’m sorry. About everything,” Nym murmured, his gaze falling down.

The human chuckled. “What are you saying? You’re creeping me out, being all mellow and apologetic all of a sudden. It’s not like you at all,” he teased the boy, purposely trying to rattle him. He wanted Nymrodel back to his old self.

Of course, he succeeded. In a second, the boy’s annoyed glare was back on his face. “And here I was actually trying to be nice to you for a change, you stupid shem! Forget it! Never again!”

Ronas just laughed as the kid yelled at him. Their voices carried out of the aravel, making the other elves who heard them wonder what in the world was going on in there.

For a while, the pair stayed silent, listening to the sounds of the aravel’s wheels grinding against the dirt path. The wooden insides of the landship rattled around them as the vessel lightly shook.

Nymrodel broke the silence first, “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

The man gave him a grin full of pride. “Were you impressed?” He was joking, beaming with feigned self-confidence, but Nym could tell it was only a charade to avoid the question.

“I’ll have you know, I was known as the Bladedancer in my youth,” Cale continued his boasting.

“Bladedancer?” Nym repeated with a dubious expression. “That sounds so lame.” His brutal honesty pierced Cale right through the heart. The kid really never held anything back.

“You never pull your punches, huh kid?” Cale pretended to be deeply hurt by his words. Then he raised his voice, determined to defend his pride, “I could tell you countless stories about my endeavors. Once I even crossed blades with a pirate who called herself a master dualist. I have to admit, she was a tough opponent. The most skilled pirate I ever faced. In the end, it was a draw, but we finished the ‘dual’ in her quarters….there, it was a draw too.” He winked at Nym and laughed loudly as if full of pride by that story.

The boy was hardly impressed. Actually, he appeared rather put off by Cale’s implications, which he understood all too well. _*Should I even be hearing this?*_ The human’s laughter was interrupted by his question, “Were you really an assassin?”

The laughter instantly died out and Cale turned somber. “Where did you hear that?”

“I overheard your conversation with the Keeper,” the elf admitted. He felt a bit guilty, since he knew he heard something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Overheard, huh?” The man gave him a dry smile.

“You forget how good of a hearing we elves have,” the boy reminded him.

Ronas sighed, deciding to cut the bullshit. “It’s true…I _was_ an assassin. Not anymore. I’m done with that life.” Although he had already decided that, his words sounded hollow to him. After all, didn’t he assassinate someone just last night? _*I suppose it’s true what they say; old habits die hard.*_ He wasn’t glad about what he did, but it was the only way to protect his friends. At least the only way he knew how.

Nymrodel bit his lip. He was curious rather than afraid, even as he spoke with a man who killed countless people. “Were you with the Antivan Crows?” He heard about the assassin order from Antiva, who were known throughout Thedas. The elves of other Clans talked about them sometimes, though not many Dalish met them. As far as Nymrodel understood, it was safer not to meet a Crow anyway.

“Hah!” Cale’s sudden outburst made Nym jump, breaking his train of thought. “Oh, please. Those guys are amateurs. They take whoever is willing to work for them or just buy slaves, and as such facilitate quantity over quality. If you want to work as an assassin, but don’t have the skills to do jobs on your own against competition, then you go join the Crows,” he explained with obvious disdain towards the assassin order.

“Then…what group were you in?” Nym titled his head, suddenly puzzled.

Cale smirked. “I didn’t work _for_ a group or _in_ a group. I worked alone. It wasn’t easy, of course. You have to have intelligence and skill to get a name for yourself in the World of Shadows. To be able to survive in that world on your own, surrounded by other assassins and assassin groups, who are your competition at best and outright enemies at worst. I managed to maintain my autonomy, which meant I could decide which contracts I wanted to take. You have to be good enough for something like that. I wasn’t the most famous assassin, but I was the best.”

The way Roans talked, it sounded like boasting, but the clear look in his eyes and serious expression on his face told Nym he wasn’t joking this time. Nymrodel believed what he was saying was true.

“Then why did you leave it all behind?”

He gave him a sad smile. “I’m tired. Tired of the assassin’s life and all the trouble that comes with it. I’m tired of outwitting my enemies and killing people. And I’m tired of seeing people die, both friends and enemies. I’m too old for that life already.”

Nym didn’t think Cale was that old. After all, he was only in his thirties. But the numerous scars and injuries he saw on the man’s body told of a dark past filled with danger and battles. If he were to continue with such a straining life, his body would probably give in even before his age caught up with him. There was something else that he wanted from the man, though. After a long silence, biting his lower lip in anxiousness all the while, Nym finally found the courage to speak up. “Please teach me to fight like you!”

The human blinked in wonder. Did he hear that right? “What?”

Nymrodel gripped the fabric of his leather pants tightly, staring down at his hands. “When the Templars attacked, I couldn’t do anything to help my Clan. I want to protect everyone, but I’m still so weak…I don’t want to be weak anymore. If I could fight like you, then I could…I could fight with everyone too!”

Cale had a grim expression that soon changed into a concerned one as he listened. “Is that why you want power? To protect others?”

“Yes!” The boy nodded frantically. “Please, I’ll do anything so-“

He was cut off when the human put a hand on his head again. His mother used to do that when he was a child. Perhaps that’s why his heart always beat louder when someone did that to him. Then he realized, nobody really patted his head since his mother passed…until Ronas started it again. The human didn’t even know what significance that simple act carried for Nymrodel.

“Alright, kid.”

Nym’s head shot up to look at the man. He didn’t really expect Cale to agree. Not this easily at least. He was prepared to hound him, just like the man hounded him for these past few weeks. “Really,” he asked suspiciously.

Cale smiled. “Really. I think it’s important for you to know how to protect yourself. And wanting to use your strength to protect others…well, I’d actually be pretty happy if my skills were used in such a way. Better than using them to kill people for money, at least.”

The boy’s face beamed as a wide smile spread across it. It’s been a while since he smiled so happily, so genuinely. Then again, lately he has been doing a lot of things he hadn’t for a long time. It’s like he was waking up from a long dream and everything seemed new once more.

After that, Ronas stayed with Clan Lavellan for five years before he had to move on for personal reasons, but even after that, he sometimes visited. During those five years, he put Nymrodel through rigorous training. Throughout all the aches, hard drills and discipline exercises, the boy, who was slowly becoming a man, never gave up. His determination to learn and become better, never faltered. And slowly, Nymrodel himself changed, not only physically, but mentally as well. The change was slow, but Cale taught him it was alright to trust others. He became more open towards the world and other people. More curious. He became more sympathetic even to others who weren’t of his Clan or even Dalish. Ronas didn’t just teach him to fight. He taught him to be a better person. A true man; one his Clan and late mother could be proud of. Gradually, Nym became the man he was today.

~…..~

As Nymrodel finished his story, Josephine and Minaeve were left with jaws slack. They were so intrigued by it, they barely made a sound throughout his storytelling. He didn’t tell them everything, though. What he told them was the short version of what happened, so he left some things that were too personal out of it. He didn’t tell them about the scars on his back nor his family circumstances. He only mentioned his mother who was killed in a darkspawn attack when he and his brother were six, but he left Seiriadel out of his story. Some things were still too painful to talk about, especially with people who he barely knew.

“On the positive side, I did meet my mentor who taught me how to fight like him. His rigorous training made me one of the best hunters in our Clan,” he smiled, a glint of pride in his eyes. 

“And this mentor of yours, this human, is still with your Clan,” Minaeve asked. It was very rare, almost unprecedented, for the Dalish to let a human stay with them as one of the Clan. Since she was also born Dalish, she knew some things about it.

The elven rogue shook his head with a slight smile, though there was a hint of loneliness in his eyes. “Not at the moment. He had to leave….well, for personal circumstances. Maybe one day I’ll tell you that story, too. We still correspond as much as we can, but he moves a lot from place to place, so it’s not easy catching each other. He still visits us sometimes, usually if he’s nearby. Though he did come back especially for my Vallaslin ritual.”

“I still can’t believe this noble, Lord Endfall, made such a brazen move against your people. That’s horrible!” Josephine was completely appalled by the part with the Templars. Although, when Nymrodel told it he left out most of the gory details. He saw the bodies later when his group returned to camp, and it wasn’t a sight he would ever forget. It was the first time he saw so many dead bodies; the land was littered with bloody corpses. Luckily, none of them belonged to the Dalish. The Clan warriors and hunters often told their war stories around the camp fire and that battle became one of them.

“It’s quite scandalous; your fight with the Templars and assassinating a noble. We must make sure it is never discovered by the nobility…they wouldn’t take such news lightly, even if it happened 8 years ago,” the ambassador warned. Her brain was already processing this new information as a diplomat would.

“I hope you were better treated near Wycome,” Minaeve added.

Nym nodded. “We roamed a lot these past 8 years, but mostly stuck to the north. We never went near Ansburg again…just in case.”

“That was probably a smart move. Luckily, I doubt we’ll have a lot of contact with Ansburg City, so even if they remember the name Lavellan there, I doubt the Inquisition will be affected. And honestly, I cannot say Lord Endfall didn’t deserve his fate. It’s as they say; ‘you reap what you sow’.” The ambassador sighed, but then smiled at him. “It seemed you had quite a life even before the Inquisition.”

 _*Oh, you have no idea,*_ Nym kept that thought to himself. Instead, he gave madam ambassador a polite smile.

“So your experience with the Templars…will you have a problem working with Commander Cullen,” she asked carefully.

The elf could see where she was coming from, but there was nothing to worry about. He shook his head. “No, don’t worry. I’m aware not every Templar is the same…or a bad person for that matter. You don’t have to be a Templar or a Mage to be rotten, either. Commander Cullen seems like an honorable sort as far as I can tell, so I doubt we’ll be having any problems. Besides, he did say he wasn’t a Templar anymore…although I noticed he still often thinks as one.”

Josephine sighed, but there was a relieved smile on her delicate features. “That’s true. Commander Cullen can often come across as a hammer to whom everything looks like a nail. However, he is a fine leader for our troops. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with such an important task and he did a wonderful job so far…even if we don’t always agree on the methods.”

“That’s right. So you have nothing to worry about, Lady Montilyet,” Nym grinned.

“I’m glad you told me of this. I have gained a better insight in your life as a Dalish elf. Hopefully, now I can work better to curb those vicious rumors about you and your Clan. I had no idea the life of the Dalish was that hard and with so many people wanting to hurt you,” her expression was a mixture of guilt and sadness. 

“It didn’t usually get that bad. We normally had a pretty good relationship with human merchants and most humans left us alone. Some that would come, like farmers with pitchforks and torches who got a bit too brave and heated after a drunken night in the tavern, we easily scared away without even having to harm them. The case with that lord of Ansburg was a rather extreme example,” he assured her.

“Even so. I promise you, Master Lavellan, I will curtail this slander of your People.”

He gave her a grateful smile. She was truly a kind woman, although that was quite a tall order even for her. His People, the Dalish, were slandered for far longer than the ‘Herald’ even existed, and such prejudice would not be washed away so easily.

Perhaps she didn’t do it just out of the kindness of her heart, but because it was her job to present the Herald of Andraste in the best light, dealing with anything that could harm his reputation, but he still considered it a generous gesture on her part. “Thank you, Madam Ambassador. To be honest, I am a bit worried about my Clan. The shem-the humans keep calling me the Herald of Andraste and a lot of people are outraged because of it. I’m afraid they will direct their anger at Clan Lavellan once they realize they can’t get to me,” he admitted with a sour expression.

“I notice you correspond with your Keeper regularly. But if you think she would hide their troubles as not to worry you, I can arrange with Leliana that we make inquires on how they fare. Perhaps the Inquisition can lend a hand,” she suggested.

The elf gave her a relieved smile and nodded in earnest. “Please do so, Lady Montilyet.”

“What do your People think about this whole ‘Herald of Andraste’ business? A Dalish elf is being revered by humans. Surely, that means _something_ to the rest of the Dalish,” Minaeve spoke this time, as she guessed.

The rogue sighed, a bead of sweat appearing on his temple as he thought about it. Rather than filled with pride, he looked troubled. “Yes, but it doesn’t necessarily mean something _good_ to them. They might think I’m betraying the Dalish by collaborating with humans or that I am nothing but a puppet for the shemlen to use. My Clan doesn’t think like that, but it’s impossible to say about the other Dalish. Hopefully, our Keeper will put their minds at ease at the next Arlathvhen – gathering of the Dalish clans,” he explained, realizing Josephine might not know what the word means. “Although, the next one is still years away,” he added.

“I am sure they will recognize your efforts once they hear about all the good you are doing. And when you close the Breach, no one will be able to argue with the results,” the ambassador gave him a reassuring, yet professional smile. He guessed it was the same one she gave to the disagreeable nobles who were still skeptical of the Inquisition’s work.

~….~

 When he left Josephine’s office, Nymrodel had to admit, he felt a bit more at ease than before. She was always honest and easy to talk to, yet passionate about her work. He liked that she had such strong ideals about diplomacy. She was a perfect balance to Cullen who had a soldier-like mentality and Leliana who used subterfuge and blackmail to strengthen the Inquisition. All three of his advisors were excellent in their field of work, but had completely different approaches when dealing with problems. They kept each other in check just as much as they did the Inquisition.

When he walked out of the Chantry, he could see the sun was already low on the horizon, indicating it was late afternoon. His story had taken longer than he thought, and the bright daylight hurt his eyesight that has adjusted to the candle-lit indoors.

He took a few steps through the snow, before his eyes fell onto Leliana. She had risen a large tent opposite of the Chantry building, which served as her headquarters when dealing with her spy network. She spent most of her time there, when not in the war room with the other advisors, rummaging through maps and papers of countless information sent her way. However, as Nym drew closer, he could see she was neither inspecting new intelligence that arrived daily with her ravens nor was she discussing their next move with one of her agents. Instead, she was kneeling on the carpeted ground, hands together in a silent prayer. 

He stopped, uncertain whether it was wise to interrupt her at what looked like a very private moment. Although he was Dalish, it didn’t mean he couldn’t be respectful of other people’s religions.

Deciding now was not the time to bother her, Nym turned to leave, only to be stopped by her voice. “No. Stay,” she called out. He was naïve to think the spymaster wouldn’t notice him. “Even if I pray to the Maker, I get no answer, anyway…so what is the point.” Her eyes opened slowly and there was a mixture of pain and anger in them. But even as she turned to look at him, he knew that anger wasn’t directed at him. “You probably don’t even believe in the Maker. Lucky…He asks a lot.” There was disdain in her voice, but once again Nymrodel could tell it was for someone else…someone Leliana could only blame, but not confront. In the end, the only one standing before her was the Dalish elf.  He stayed silent, patiently letting her vent out any frustration she might have after her payer.

“It is as if Death is the only blessing the Maker has to give to us…has he truly abandoned us like the Chantry preaches?” She sighed, shaking her head in sorrow. Her gaze hardened when she looked back at Nym, “Devine Justinia gave him everything. She was the best of us, yet He let her die!” She stood back up, facing the elf. “They call you the Herald of Andraste, so you speak for Her, no? How does the Maker’s prophet explain all this senseless violence!? The Maker has turned from us….or he is simply playing a cruel joke on us all.”

Seeing she was expecting answers he could not give her, Nymrodel’s gaze softened. He realized even from their previous conversations that the Devine’s death hit her hard. Everyone was in shock from what happened at the Temple, but Leliana seemed particularly close to Justinia even before she became the Devine. Now after weeks of mourning, all that bottled up sadness and anger have reached its peak and spilled over.

The Dalish knew full well what it meant feeling your Gods have deserted you. Their legends spoke of it often, saying the reason their whole Empire of Elvhenan fell was because their Gods disappeared. “Most Dalish believe our Creators have gone silent. Some say it was because they were imprisoned by Fen’Harel, but others say they simply abandoned us. Yet we still believe in them. Ask them to guide us in our time of need. Pray to them for strength and purpose. You either believe or you don’t. I cannot restore your faith for you. Only you can do that,” he told her bluntly. She was too intelligent to try and be pacified by pretty words. For her, simple honesty would work better.

The redhead bit her lip, mulling over his words before she smirked warily. “I used to believe I was chosen, just as some say you are. I thought I was fulfilling His purpose for me; working for the Devine, helping people…But now she’s dead and it was all for nothing. Serving the Maker meant _nothing_ ,” she hissed, bitterness rising in her voice again.  

The elf sighed at her words. “That is not true. Whether you helped people as a service to the Devine or the Maker or simply out of generosity, it doesn’t change the fact that you did help them. And now you are helping the Inquisition bring back peace to Thedas and close the Breach. That is not nothing, Lady Leliana.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “You may feel lost right now, but our Keeper often says; ‘ _It is in our darkest moments that we see the light. And so, it is only when we are lost that we can truly find ourselves_.’” He shrugged with a grin, “I don’t know if Dalish wisdom helps you any, but at least know you have a friend in me. If you ever want to confide in me, I’m here, and if I can help you find another purpose, I will.”  

This time it was the spymaster who sighed. She shook her head, “Thank you, Herald…but that is my burden to bear. Honestly, I regret that I even let you see me like this. It was a moment of weakness and it won’t happen again.” She turned her back on him, subtly suggesting their conversation was finished. “Let us get back to work.”

A worried expression passed Nym’s features as he stared at her back. He wanted to reassure her that showing her emotions or speaking honestly wasn’t a weakness, but he could tell there was no point. Perhaps being an Orlesian bard and then a spymaster for so long left her jaded and warry of showing her true feelings, afraid that it could be exploited by her enemies. And even now, although she wasn’t among enemies, she still had the same mindset. That mentality of believing _you need to do whatever it takes to protect what’s yours_ , reminded him of his younger self. At that time, he thought mercy was a weakness, just like she did now. But his younger self was wrong; Ronas taught him that. Nym hoped one day Leliana would see that too. He gave a curt nod and left her tent, deciding to give her space as she asked.

It was as Leliana said; they had to get back to work, and Nym needed to prepare. His War Council had decided and tomorrow he would travel to Val Royeaux to face the Chantry clerics. There was still a good chance it was all a trap and they will instantly arrest him as a heretic when he arrives, but it was a risk he needed to take to move forward. Unlike to his spymaster, his own path was clear to him. He saw the devastation the Templar-Mage war caused in the Hinterlands, and after seeing so many innocents killed or suffering, what kind of man would he be if he just turned away from them. He needed to see this through and close the Breach, no matter what – for his Clan, but also for all of the innocent people of Thedas.   

* * *

 

Glossary:

 _Dareth shiral_ – farewell (literally "Safe journey.")

 _Vhenallin_ – Friend(s) of the People.

 _Aneth ara_ \- A sociable or friendly greeting, more commonly used among the Dalish themselves rather than with outsiders.

 _Lethallin_ \- Casual reference used for someone with whom one is familiar; generally, lethallin is used for males.

 _Arlathvhen_ \- Meeting of the Dalish clans that occurs every ten years. (Means "for love of the People.)

 _Hanal'ghilan_ \- Elven name for the mythical golden halla said by the Dalish to appear during times of great need; the pathfinder.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I wish I could write even more about the Clan (maybe a spin-off story). That's ok, there will be more of them in the future, I'm sure. For now, it's back to the present and mostly cannon.  
> Since this is my first DA story, any constructive criticism is welcome. Bye!


	5. The City Cousins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where they come to Val Royeaux.

“Last chance, Hero. You sure you don’t want to go with us to Val Royeaux,” Varric asked as he strapped Bianca onto his back. He was hoping he wouldn’t need her, but it was always better to be prepared. He talked to Warden Blackwall, who decided to take a small party of Inquisition soldiers back to the Hinterlands where they intended to weed out the last of the apostate Mages and Templars fighting around the area. He insisted it was a better use of his time than to argue with offended Chantry clerics.    

“Yeah, come, it’ll be fun. There’s a chance we all end up imprisoned and hung as heretics there, but that risk is part of the excitement,” Nym joined in with a few snarky remarks.

“It will not come to that! Probably,” Cassandra added, but she didn’t sound as confident as she usually did. “In any case, Leliana used the names Mother Giselle gave her. If we talk to the right people, we might get some Chantry support on our side or at least get them to oppose the others.”

Blackwall gave a displeased grunt, shaking his head. “No. I think I will help the refugees in Hinterlands instead. There is nothing for me in damned Val Royeaux. Besides, I promised Lady Leliana I would check on these strange reports about sightings of Tevinters in the area. Magisters in Ferelden? That just rubs me the wrong way,” he grunted.  

The way he gazed to the side with obvious discomfort, made Nym wonder why the man was so opposed to coming with them. Perhaps he loathed the city or its people, the elf guessed. He could imagine why when Josephine mentioned all the Orlesian nobles that gather there.

The first time their ambassador told him he would have to associate with nobles as the Herald, the elf stiffened. Dealing with humans was one thing, but shemlen nobility was a completely different matter. Not all shems could be trusted, but at least _some_ could. However, there was no elf, city or Dalish alike, who trusted human _nobles_. There was simply too much bad blood there, and that blood usually belonged to the elves.

“Are we ready?” Solas’ question brought him out of his contemplation.

In the end, it would be only Solas, Nymrodel, Cassandra and Varric who would go to the great Orlesian capital. They would be no match for the Orlesian army or the Templar Order there if they decided to apprehend them, but Cassandra and Leliana assured him Orlais had bigger problems than the Inquisition – what with the civil war and their Templars deserting them. He was also comforted by the fact Leliana sent her agents ahead of them to spy on the Chantry’s movements, just in case a trap was laid out for them, so hopefully they won’t be taken by surprise.

Once again, Nymrodel was reminded how competent his advisors truly were.

“Alright,” he started, checking that the harnesses for his scabbards were firmly tied to his back. There, two dual daggers were sheathed, and Nym hoped they would stay like that for some time yet. “Let’s go do some _Inquisiting_ ,” he grinned.

Solas sighed, “I can’t believe you just said that.”

Varric laughed. “I am so putting that in my next book, Snow!”

Cassandra just made a disgruntled sound.

~……~

The Sun Gates of Val Royeaux were the perfect depiction of what awaited them inside. The gate towered before them, enough to make them crane their necks to look at its arch. There, the gold reflecting the sunlight blinded them, making them squint their eyes from the brightness. The gates were decorated in ornaments, its façade depicting the rise of the first Orlesian Emperor, Kordillus Drakon.

Yet what awaited them inside was even more spectacular, bringing forth a gasp of awe from the Dalish elf. Silken tapestries in purple, the color of House Valmont, decorated the walls and hung across the market. Golden statues of lions, the symbol of Empress Celene, guarded every corner of the Summer Bazaar. Lush, bright colors seemed to swirl around the city, as every building was decorated with ornaments and painted in lovely shades. Thin films of gold covered the marble statues and door archways.

And among it all, numerous shops, large and small, with everything one could imagine. They offered assorted merchandise, from food delicacies and tiny cupcakes to armors and weapons made of pure silverate.

Nym spun around as he walked, his wondrous eyes darting from one place to the other, unsure where to even look in all this splendor. His mouth was agape as he stared up at the gilded rooftops, and he almost bumped into a woman with the most unusual appearance. Then he realized it wasn’t just her. Women wore enormous dresses with corsets that couldn’t possibly be comfortable or easy to walk in. Men wore colorful pantaloons and equally puffy sleeves, along with pointy shoes that made the elf grimace. It was as if everyone was competing who would look the most extravagant among them. The hats they all wore were just as ridiculous as the rest of the Orlesian fashion, if not more, he noted. And every one of them, be it the shopkeepers or just passerby citizens, wore a styled mask hiding their features.

“Why do they all wear masks,” Nym asked. He was trying hard not to stare at the passersby and failing at it. In return, however, he noticed the people were blatantly staring at him too and mostly cowering in fear.

Cassandra gave an exasperated sigh, as if the very thought of that answer drained her. “It is part of Orlesian culture. Among other things, the masks indicate their social standing. They are hereditary and identify one's family just like the heraldry on a crest. Servants also wear them, so it would be obvious what family they serve,” she explained.

“I suspect they also hide their facial expressions or emotions, which is good when you are playing the Game,” Solas added.

“I don’t know, I can clearly see the fear on that chap’s face,” Varric gestured towards an elegantly dressed man who was giving them fearful side-glances. He even crossed the street so he wouldn’t need to directly pass the suspicious group by. “Something tells me they already know who we are, Seeker.”

“The Game?” Nym’s head titled to the side in question.

“The elaborate schemes among the nobles of the Orlesian court. They grab for power like starved wolves, stabbing each other in the backs as they do. People often die in those schemes, yet they call it a ‘Game’ as if it is nothing more than a friendly play among friends,” the Seeker explained, disgust clearly visible on her hardened features. Unlike these nobles, she wasn’t even trying to hide her distaste.

The elven rogue frowned in thought. * _As expected, all this lush extravaganza is just for show. The real Orlais must be a much darker and more dangerous a place,*_ he concluded. What’s more, as lovely as everything looked, it was barren of any nature. There was no grass beneath his feet, only stone. There were barely any trees, except for a few small ones, tucked there to give life to some corner of the street, and barely having any room to grow.

He walked over to a small maple tree; its trunk was thin and painted white, with its leaves blood-red. Placing a hand against it, he frowned.

“Tamed and sorrowful, isn’t it?” Solas’ voice made him turn towards the other elf, removing his palm from the tree’s trunk.

Nym nodded. “It’s a pity, really. As pretty as it all is, it’s all just stone…,” he sighed.

“Not all,” Solas started. “There’s also gold,” he gave the other a sarcastic smirk.

“We should move on,” the Seeker hurried them, hoping to wrap this business as soon as possible.

It appeared they won’t be given a chance to properly sightsee Val Royeaux, Nym realized, feeling a bit disappointed. But they were here on business, so pleasures could wait.

“Lady Cassandra!”

They were just crossing the Summer Bazaar, their aim the Grand Cathedral up ahead, which was the heart of the Andrastian Chantry, when one of Leliana’s agents intercepted them.

The group turned towards a breathless woman in an Inquisition uniform. She had to stop and catch her breath before she was able to give her report.

“The people are gathering at the Bazaar’s square, my lady. The Chantry mothers are there…awaiting the Inquisition,” the agent started. She was still young and rather inexperienced, as she openly showed how unsettled she was. Seasoned scouts would never show their distress in front of their commanding officers, no matter the direness of the situation.  

“Good. That is what we are here for,” Cassandra furrowed her eyebrows, unable to see the problem.

“But so is a great number of Templars...,” the young scout winced. 

“Templars? I thought they all left the White Spire after the rebellion,” the Seeker blinked in surprise.

“This doesn’t bode well, Seeker,” the dwarf warned, giving her a warning expression.

“I can see that for myself, Varric,” the woman hissed back, annoyed at his constant commentary.

“Should we turn back?” Nym glanced at Cassandra questioningly, but the frown on his face showed he wouldn’t really like that idea. They have come this far, after all; turning back now seemed like a waste of time. Still, Cassandra had much more experience with the Templars so he thought it best to listen to her council on the matter.

The woman was silent for a while, mulling over that idea, before she spoke up. “No. We should proceed as planned.” She then turned to Leliana’s agent, “Go back to Haven and tell them of the situation. Someone will need to inform them if we are… _delayed_ ,” she ordered.

“That’s tactfully put,” Solas commented in a mutter.

The girl gave a curt nod to the Seeker and rushed off, leaving the group to their fate.

Cassandra sighed, “Only one thing to do now.”

~…..~

It didn’t take them long before they noticed the large crowd gathering in the Val Royeaux market. On a small wooden platform, a Chantry mother and her few followers were in the middle of a speech. A speech against the Inquisition, no less.

“Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me! Together we mourn our Divine. Her naïve and beautiful heart, silenced by treachery! You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well wonder no more!”

Nymrodel pushed through the crowd, finally arriving at the platform, just in time for the Chantry mother to point an accusatory finger at him.

“Behold, the so-called Herald of Andraste. Claiming to rise where our beloved fell!” The disgust on her face was evident. “We say; this is a false prophet! The maker would send no _elf_ in our hour of need!”

The said elf narrowed his eyes, glaring at her now. It sounded more like she shouted ‘knife-ear,’ masked by her words, but clear in her scornful undertone. He could hear hushed whispers around him, some fearful or uncertain, while others clearly hateful. He knew this was his only chance. He needed to choose his words carefully and try to make them see reason.

“Call me a Herald or False Prophet, it doesn’t matter to me!” The shocked voices around him intensified. “The only thing I care about is mending the sky and closing the Breach! We must unite and stop it before it spreads further and tears the whole world apart!”

The whispers around him changed their tune, most of them agreeing with his words now. The people of Val Royeaux were fickle in their nature, and now they nodded in concurrence.

Determined to give him support just at the right time, Cassandra spoke up. “It is true! The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!”

The agreeing voices around them intensified, but the Chantry mother didn’t look convinced. Her hard stare towards the elf only became harsher.

“It is already too late,” she hissed and pointed at an approaching group.

Even before the woman announced them, Nym could hear the heavy footsteps of warriors clad in armor. Their Templar armors clattered in unison as they marched across the Summer Bazaar like they were the only real authority there.

“This can’t be good,” Varric muttered beside him in a sullen tone. Nym could only silently agree.

“The Templars have returned to the Chantry to face this ‘Inquisition’! The people will be safe once more,” the mother yelled confidently. That confidence was literally knocked out of her when one of the Templars hit her on the back of her head.

The crowd screamed in shock and even Nym and his group were startled by the sudden display. The elf soon collected himself and stepped forward, glaring at the one who seemed to be in charge. Whatever this display of power was supposed to be, he wasn’t impressed. All they did was hit an older woman and scare the crowd. As annoying as she might have been, that was going a bit too far.  

“What is the meaning of this? If you are not here for us, what have you come here for,” the rogue elf demanded, trying to stand his ground the best he could even before a heavily-armored group of Templars. Such a sight has only left him with bad memories in the past and he could feel that unease rising inside of him now. But he pushed it back down and controlled his emotions, trying to appear as authoritative as he could. That was how these shemlen dealt with each other, was it not?

The main Templar only returned Nym’s glare with a sneer. “I have come to see what frightens old women so…and to laugh. I see nothing to worry about from you lot,” he answered, giving the elf a scornful look that spoke to him; ‘ _You are beneath me in every way.’_ He stepped off the platform, giving his men a wordless signal to move out. As if they had only come here to make this shocking scene and mock the Inquisition.

Cassandra, who was still recovering from what she just saw of the Templars, finally regained her bearings. She walked over to try and cut the man off. “Lord Seeker Lucius, it is imperative that we speak with-“

She never got to finish as he cut her off, not even slowing in his stride, “You will not address me.” His tone was as cold as his words. He didn’t even look at Cassandra, as if she was unworthy of his time. Nymrodel was disliking this guy more and more with every new action he made.

The warrior woman was taken aback, giving him a questioning look.

Finally, the man stopped and looked at her, only to rain his poisonous words on her. “Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s Prophet. You should be ashamed!”

The elf finally had enough. He walked over to Cassandra, standing side by side with her to show his support. The vallaslin on his forehead twisted as he furrowed his eyebrows in anger. “Say about me what you will, but unlike you Templars who go around wreaking havoc and attacking old Chantry mothers, Cassandra is trying to solve the _real_ problem. She is the one trying to close the Breach and stop this foolish war, while you only fan the flames!”

The hateful sneer Lord Seeker gave him, made the elf gulp. He wasn’t really used to arguing with large men in even larger armor. Even so, he didn’t back down and stared defiantly at the human.

Seeker Lucius didn’t attack Nym as the other expected him to. Instead, he raised his voice so all could hear. “The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages.” His gaze traveled across the crowd, addressing everyone in the market now. “ _You_ are the ones who failed! You, who’d leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear!”

Somehow Nym found it hard to see the righteousness in the man who hit old women and talked about _purging_ the mages, as if they should all be exterminated like vermin.

“If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is _mine_ ,” Seeker Lucius continued with a mad glint in his eyes.

_*Fuck this guy,*_ the elf deadpanned. That was the first thing Nym thought when the man finished his grand speech. “So you just came here to make speeches, after all,” he noted, unimpressed by the Lord Seeker.

Only one among the Templars seemed to still possess some reason about him. “But Lord Seeker, what if the elf really was sent by the Maker? What if-“

His argument was quickly cut off by his comrade. “You are called to a higher purpose. Do not question!”

Seeing the warning glare the Lord Seeker was giving him, the Templar quickly got back in line, all other objections dying on his lips.    

Nymrodel was hardly surprised when the Lord Seeker continued with more speeches. The man really liked his grandstanding. “I will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the Void! We deserve independence and recognition! You have showed me _nothing_! And your Inquisition, less than nothing.” He gave one more snarl to Cassandra and Lavellan, before gesturing with his head towards his men again. “Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!” Turning their backs on the Chantry and the people of Val Royeaux, Lucius and his Templars left without looking back.  

“By the Dread Wolf, was that man full of himself! Dirthara-ma,” Nym growled the words in anger, still glaring at Lucius’ shining armor and the Templar insignia on his back. “He just abandoned all these people like it’s none of his concern.”

“Charming fellow, isn’t he,” Varric muttered, sarcasm clear in his tone. He looked as displeased as his elven friend about the whole situation.

Cassandra still appeared to be in shock by the whole ordeal. “Has the Lord Seeker gone mad?” There was pure disbelief in her voice as she watched the Templars leave with wide eyes.

“Perhaps we should…discuss our next plan of action, instead. I do not believe we will be getting our help from the Templars as Commander Cullen suggested, but perhaps we can still approach the mages for help,” Solas suggested. He was the only one who stayed completely calm throughout the whole ordeal. 

Nymrodel sighed. “I’m sorry Cassandra, I know you wanted the Templars and this Lord Seeker to help, but that really might be impossible.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and saw her fists clench by her side.

“I would not write them off so easily. There might still be a few of them who do not think like he does or who could see reason.” She tried to sound sure of her own words, but Nym could see the doubt and confusion in her eyes.

~……~

They sat around a neat, blue tablecloth-covered table at a tavern near the Summer Bazaar. The Sweetsong Brandy Parlou, as was its name, was filled with people happily chatting about their everyday lives, as if the whole incident in the marketplace never even occurred less than an hour ago.  Nym and his group carried a serious conversation of their own, their voices drowned among the crowd of many others. Even without being heard, the bleak expressions on their faces clearly indicated their current state of affairs. They were still discussing everything they just witnessed of the Templars and Lord Seeker Lucius.

“Well that was…an interesting turn of events,” Nym commented, rather diplomatically. In truth, he wasn’t sure what to say.

“That definitely didn’t go as planned,” his dwarven friend added with a scowl.

The elven mage only shrugged. “But it doesn’t seem like the Chantry will pose a problem to us any longer, so perhaps not all is bad news.”

In complete contrast to Solas’ nonchalant demeanor, the Seeker was still deeply troubled by Lucius’ actions. The dark frown never left her face ever since the Templars departed from Val Royeaux. “I still cannot phantom what the Lord Seeker is thinking. I have never seen him like that.”

Nym could see the woman was still mulling over everything Lucius had said to her. Presumably, she would do so for a long while still. It hurt her, even if she didn’t show it directly. “A lot has changed recently, including the Templars,” Nym shrugged, trying to find some way to console her.

“But he was always a reasonable and decent man, never prone to grandstanding. This is not like him,” she shook her head in disbelief.

Nym opened his mouth to say something else, when an arrow whizzed right before his eyes and pierced the middle of their table. The porcelain cups filled with tea or coffee clattered in front of them. Everyone instantly stood up, drawing their weapons and causing a disturbance at the outer terrace of the café where they had been sitting. The other guests gasped, some moving out of the way when they noticed the four dangerously armed individuals.

The group ignored the Royans and spun around, searching for the mysterious archer that shot at them. They saw no one suspicious around and when they realized there was no immediate danger, they relaxed.

“What is it,” Cassandra asked as Nym picked up the lodged arrow. It had a red handkerchief tied to it, together with a note inside it.

He read the note out loud. “Favors for Favors for Friends:  People say you're special. I want to help, and I can bring everyone. There's a baddie in Val Royeaux. I hear he wants to hurt you. Have a search for the red things in the market, the docks, and 'round the cafe, and maybe you'll meet him first. Bring swords. Signed, Friends of Red Jenny.” He looked around at his companions, but all were mirroring the same puzzled expression he was wearing. “Do any of you know what this means? Who is this Red Jenny?”

“I have some contacts in the underworld, but I’ve never heard of that name,” Varric raised his eyebrow in interest.

“Perhaps we should follow the map they have drawn for us…rather poorly, if I might add,” Solas interjected, trying to make sense of a badly drawn map pointing to where the other red handkerchiefs should be. 

“Is this some childish game?! We have no time for some crazy hunt for red scarves around Val Royeaux!” Cassandra was against it.

“Looking at the map, it doesn’t look far,” the rogue elf shrugged. “And it says something about a ‘baddie trying to hurt me.’ Maybe this is some kind of warning that I’m being targeted?” He had to admit, he was a bit intrigued.

“Or it could be a trap,” Solas added, though his tone remained rather light-hearted. He didn’t sound worried.

_*Well if Solas isn’t worried…*_ Nym looked at the others. Cassandra was still protesting, but Varric also seemed interested by the sudden note. “I say it’s worth investigating,” he grinned.

“You just want to go and satisfy your curiosity,” Varric stated, giving his roguish friend a knowing smirk.

The grin only widened on the other man’s features and a small, excited glint appeared in his big blue eyes. “Yes, that too,” he admitted.

~…..~

Each red handkerchief gave them a different clue and once all were collected, a bigger picture started to form. They got a time, a place and a key to enter it.

“It says to come at this place at midnight. We still have time before that.” Nym looked at the sky that has only started to darken, first pale stars appearing above them.

“Then shall we take a room in the Grand Val Royeaux Inn. It is better than roaming around the city aimlessly,” Cassandra suggested.

The elf thought for a moment and nodded. “You go on ahead, I’ll join you later.”

“You are not coming with us?” Cassandra’s eyebrows furrowed in suspicion. It was the same expression she wore when she thought her prisoners were hiding something during her interrogations.

“I just have something I want to do first,” he explained rather vaguely, his friends noted.

“Anything we can help you with, Snow? If we’re really being watched, maybe it’s not a good idea to separate now,” the dwarf frowned.

The other rogue just smiled at him. He knew Varric worried easily about his friends and he felt a bit guilty now, but this was something he needed to do alone. He shook his head. “Don’t worry, Varric. I think the worst thing that can happen to me here is someone insulting my fashion sense,” he joked, He knew that wasn’t quite true, but he hoped his light-hearted attitude would reassure his friends.

The dwarf chuckled, “Fair enough.”  

“Besides…,” the elf started, tapping the hilts of his dual daggers behind his back. “If push comes to shove, I have these.”

Cassandra still didn’t look convinced. She didn’t want to leave the Herald all on his own at a critical time like this, but he seemed insistent so she deciding to respect his decision. Her hard expression softened as she exhaled in surrender. “Very well.”

She jotted down the directions of the Inn for him and handed him the piece of paper. Luckily, there were maps of the city everywhere and the Inn was well known, so he shouldn’t have any problem finding it. “Do not forget the invitation to the salon at the chateau of Duke Bastien de Ghislain, from the Imperial Enchanter. That is also occurring tonight,” the Seeker reminded him.

During their little search for the red handkerchiefs, they were also intercepted by a massager who gave them a royal-looking invitation from Enchanter Vivienne, the royal mage and advisor to the Empress herself. Nym had no idea what the woman would want from someone like him, even if the Inquisition was slowly on the rise with its power. 

_*Great, more nobles,*_ he sighed mentally. An Orlesian party meant shemlen clothing, hard-leather shoes, and faking smiles and propriety throughout the night. He wondered how many times they will call him ‘rabbit,’ believing that is any less offensive to him than ‘knife-ear.’ Hopefully he’ll have time to prepare for it, though Josephine wasn’t there to help him as she usual was before meeting the nobles in Haven.

“I know. I’ll go there before the oh-so clandestine meeting with our mysterious new ‘friend,’” Nym smirked.

~…..~

He felt a bit guilty for suddenly leaving his companions behind, but this was something he needed to do on his own. He couldn’t bring a whole armed group with him where he was going, he knew that much.

Nym looked down at himself, biting his lower lip in thought. He was wearing shemlen scout armor made from dragonling scales and semite. It was a bit hefty for him, as he was used to lighter and more flexible materials that the Dalish hunters were accustomed to. His old armor was weaker, but easier to move in. He even had to wear boots for today, since he was supposed to be meeting with the Chantry in a human capital and didn’t want to look like a ‘savage’ as they often called his kind. He felt only pride for who he was, but he knew the humans would see it differently, and as much as he hated it, he needed to make some concessions when dealing with them as the ‘Herald.’ Ugh, he still hated that title.  

Even though he was dressed as a human, he knew the armor and weapons won’t make him stand out any less. And with Mythal’s vallaslin on his face, he couldn’t look any more Dalish if he tried. Turning a corner, he found a small shop that sold cloaks and tried to pick one that would hide his features. It didn’t help that all of them were lavish and silken, with golden or silver threads woven into them. Those kinds of robes wouldn’t make him inconspicuous at all considering where he was going. He finally found a simple black one and paid the shopkeeper a few silvers for it. As he went on his way, Nym clad himself in the black cloak of fine material and put up the hood to try and hide his vallaslin.

As he walked, the city streets slowly begun to change. The architecture became simple, the facades not quite as colorful and rooftops lost their gilded decorations on them. He could still see a few marble fountains, but they looked old and badly preserved. There were no golden lion statues here, either. The lower market of Val Royeaux completely paled in comparison to the Summer Bazaar or Belle Marché. The wooden stalls looked rundown and in much worse a shape than those of the Royan shopkeepers from before. Still, the rogue elf continued to walk, his cloak fluttering behind him.

The further he went, the darker the streets seemed and the poorer the people looked. He could see human beggars on the streets now and a few groups with daggers fastened to their belts watched him carefully, whispering to themselves. Nym kept his guard up, his hands ready to take out his blades at any given time. He knew he had reached the slums of Val Royeaux – a world of difference from the extravagant side of the city he had seen earlier. Just like in any large city, there were always the rich and the poor areas, but this city masked its true colors well.

Finally, the elf found what he was searching for. He gazed up at a steel gate and a rundown wall separating the elven alienage from the rest of the city slums. They were walled off, divided even from the rest of the poor souls living no better in the Val Royeaux slums – no, still a little better, because they were not elves. Nym adjusted the hood on his head and went in.

Nobody tried to stop him as he snuck inside. He wasn’t sure if anyone even noticed, for if they did, they made no comments his way. He guessed the city guards were more interested in keeping people _in_ the alienage than prohibiting people from entering. So the elves needed a special permission, a pass, to leave the alienage, but _anyone_ could enter it for whatever reason. He scowled at the discerning thoughts crossing his mind from that idea.

Nymrodel never saw an elven alienage before. He heard many stories, both from his and other Dalish Clans, none of them particularly good. The Dalish had diverse opinions on their city cousins. Some didn’t even consider them one of the People anymore and have completely given up on them. Others pitied them and would take in stragglers; city elves who ran from the alienage, hoping for a better life. His mother and Keeper Deshanna both taught his Clan that although the city elves aren’t like the Dalish, they are still part of the same race and should be treated as such. After all, they were all one race - a fact many of the Dalish try to forget or ignore.

He heard about the poverty and poor living conditions the city elves were subjected to. Yet nothing could prepare him for this. His eyes were wide, his jaw slack, much like when he saw the large city of Val Royeaux for the first time. But the feelings behind that stunned expression were completely different this time.

The whole alienage was perhaps as big as Haven, which was quite small considering the amount of elves living there. Even though the sky was already darkening, the main square was still crowded with people. Some were trading, selling small trinkets on shabby wooden stalls, while others simply sat at the side of the street begging for a few coins or a loaf of stale bread, at least. Dirt, mud and brown water splashed around his feet as he slowly walked, staring at collapsing shacks and destroyed facades of the buildings. It was as if he entered a completely different world; one of ruin and despair. 

The elves scurried quietly as they passed by on their business, afraid to draw too much attention to themselves even though there were no humans around. He could see fear and suspicion in their tired eyes – not directed at him, but rather it felt like those feelings were always present in the elves’ everyday lives. As if every day was a struggle to survive, a fear of death hanging over them constantly.

As night fell, he saw a man light up a long torch and he slowly begun lighting up the torches around the alienage with it. The light of the fire only cast ominous shadows around the area. They danced off the walls with every quick movement of an elf running in some back alley or dragging his tired feet through the mud after a long day of ungratifying work. Unlike the servant elves, these ones didn’t have masks covering their faces, indicating they didn’t serve any nobles.

Nym moved slowly, heading towards the main square. His heart beat loud in his chest; hurting for the people living in such a place. He only knew forests, hills and glens. Sparkling rivers and lakes. Yet he doubted these people even had clean water. Everything was dirty, dilapidated and overpopulated. It felt like there was a dark, gloomy shadow over the entire area. And the smell. Creators, the stench of horse and dung made his eyes water.

The guilt hit him hard. The guilt of running through the forest with the halla, completely oblivious that his city cousins were often running through the dirty back alleys, to get away from the drunken humans who would sometimes come to beat them. He could only imagine the crime going on around here when night falls; both by the elven gangs and humans.  

Finally, he reached the only greenery he saw in the alienage – the Vhenadahl - the tree of the People. The large oak tree stood in the middle of the small square, decorated with colorful ribbons and shimmering with vibrant colors. Small candles burned at the foot of its great, thick trunk, left together with other offerings from those elves who were still trying to follow the old ways and traditions. But he could see those traditions were slowly dying out, replaced by a more urgent need – survival. Some of the large branches that rose up towards the darkened sky were cut off, probably for firewood.

He stepped towards the tree as respectfully as a citizen would step before their king. In a cordial manner, he placed his right hand on the Vhenadahl’s trunk, feeling the rough bark underneath. There was pure sadness in his eyes as he felt the tree’s struggle to live on and spread its roots, not unlike the elves who lived their lives around it. It felt different than the maple tree he touched at the city’s market before. Less ‘tamed,’ as Solas explained it.

“Da’len?”

The unfamiliar voice made Nym jump. He was momentarily taken by surprise, too deep in his own musings, and he spun around with lightning speed towards a person standing beside him now. His blue eyes were wide with surprise. In his haste he forgot to hide his hooded face, letting the other clearly see the brownish vallaslin on his young features. In the darkness, bathed only in firelight, his tattoos looked dark crimson – almost like the vallaslin of those who worship the Forgotten Ones.

The man before him was old and withered. Lines of worry and old age graced his features and encircled his tired eyes. His irises might have been dark blue like the sea once, but they looked dark grey now. His short hair was completely silver, changed with old age. He was the epitome of a reminder that the famed elven immortality was long gone now.

The old man smiled at him gently and bowed his head. “You are one of the Dalish. Andaran atish’an. Welcome to our humble Alienage,” the man spoke.

At first Nym was suspicious of the man who suddenly came up to him, but he didn’t think there was anything to fear from the old elf, so he relaxed. He probably made himself a peculiar sight in the first place, standing beneath the Vhenadahl silently while everyone rushed around him with their own business in mind. He adjusted his hood, pulling it lower over his features; he didn’t want anyone else to notice his blood tattoos.

He could hear the respect in the other man’s voice simply because he spoke to a Dalish elf, yet Nymrodel only felt guilty for it. The man was three times older than him, at least, and Nym deserved no reverence from him. His Keeper did say once that most city elves either respected and looked up to the Dalish, revering them as creatures of legends, or simply thought them arrogant for looking down on their city kin.

“Enaste, hahren,” Nym greeted politely, nodding to the old man in respect. By the somewhat better robes the man wore, unlike the others who were draped with tattered old rags, the rogue could tell this man was one of the Alienage’s Elders. Considering how many people lived here, he guessed there was more than one Elder leading the Alienage in Val Royeaux.

“May I ask what brought you here, that you would grace us with your presence? You must be far from home, da’len,” the old elf asked. He spoke with a gentle smile, perhaps considerate of Nym’s shocked features. The rogue guessed he was till pale from the dire scene before him. It shocked him to the core.

The young elf swallowed hard, feeling his throat grow dry. He was still cloaked and hooded with his dark robe, but suddenly he felt like every eye in the alienage was directed at him - carefully watching his every movement. He shunned the thought away, writing it off as his imagination, even as his skin prickled with unease.

“I wanted to see with my own eyes…how the city elves live,” he answered. _*My coming here wasn’t exactly planned,*_ Nym thought.

There was a saddened look in the Elder’s reddened eyes. “So you did not know? That explains the ashen look of your face,” the man teased lightly, as if trying to bring Nymrodel out of his frozen state.

After a while, the young elf collected himself. “I’m sorry. I never thought…,” he fell silent, not even sure what to say. Then he reminded himself he wasn’t just a young Dalish hunter anymore. He was an agent of the Inquisition, one who was part of the Council and who helped make decisions. Since the City cared so little for its elven citizens, as far as Nym could tell, perhaps he could do something for these people with the Inquisition resources. “I could help. Bring food to the alienage or give you gold. Whatever you need.” He knew most Dalish didn’t care what happened to their city kin, but could anyone with a heart truly turn their back away after seeing this?

The old elf smiled at him and the patient look he was giving him reminded Nym of his Keeper. “There are ten thousand elves living in this alienage. Can you really bring enough food or gold for all of them?”

Nym’s mind froze once more. _*Ten thousand people? Ten thousand people lived in this small, cramped hole of a place!*_ He could hardly believe it.

 The Elder sighed at Nym’s stunned expression. “Come, da’len. Let us talk in a more private place. It is dangerous here after dark.” He gestured for Nym to follow him and he led him through the streets. The young elf only now noticed how deserted it has become, as most elves shut themselves into their ruined homes, for safety.

“My name is Zatvel. As you guessed, I am one of the Elders of this alienage.”

“I am Nymrodel of the Clan Lavellan.” He hoped his Clan name has not yet reached this place. The last thing he wanted was for everyone here to start revering him as the Herald of Andraste like the humans did.

The old man spoke on as he guided the young Dalish through the narrow alley. Nym tried hard not to scrunch up his nose in disgust from the smell of damp which was everywhere. They walked through muck that he could only hope was just mud. “We are given rations by the city, but they are never much. Most elves need to find any way to survive here and a lot of them turn to crime, unfortunately. Everything is better than starving to death, after all. And somehow, no matter how much you work here to get paid, you are always hungry. Possibly because the nobles often refuse to pay after our work is done, or only pay half the price,” he sighed.

Nym could feel the frustration rising from the hahren’s words, but he kept it at bay.

“Ah, we have arrived.” The old man finally stopped at a simple wooden house, the windows boarded to keep the cold out. The shutters on one window were broken and the doors looked ready to fall off their hinges. Nym could tell they were repaired numerous times already, but the wood was simply not strong enough anymore. The house was as rundown as the rest of the Alienage, but Nym didn’t comment on it. He knew it was this man’s only home and he wanted to respect that.

The elf led them inside, lighting up a large candle to give the room some light and warmth. “Welcome to my humble vhenas,” the man smiled.

Nym gave him a warm smile as he bowed his head lightly. “En'an'sal'en sul mar arla, hahren,” he responded. It was only proper to show his respect after being invited so generously into another man’s abode.

The old elf chuckled. “It is not much, I know. A world of difference from your Dalish camp that resides in open plains or deep forests, I’m sure.” He gestured for Nym to sit at the wooden table as he put the kettle on over the hearth placed in the middle of the room. Luckily, the ground was mix of stone and dirt, so there was no fear of anything catching on fire around it.

Lavellan smirked, thinking the man would be surprised to learn that he spent many weeks now either living in human quarters or camping outdoors. He realized how very long it has been since the last time he saw his Clan’s encampment and the thought instantly made him homesick. He waved the thought away as he spoke, “Still, thank you for graciously inviting me to your home.”

“I will happily share what little I have with one of the People,” the man smiled brightly, pouring herbal tea for Nymrodel and then himself.

_*I wish the Dalish were as generous as you when it came to the city elves, hahren,*_ the young elf thought sadly. He didn’t speak the words, but there was a troubled expression on his face which twisted the tattoos below his eyes. “Ma serannas,” he thanked, taking the hot cup in his cold hands to warm them.

When both elves were sitting at the wobbly old table, drinking their tea in peace, Nymrodel decided to speak again. “Would you tell me more of this place, hahren? The truth is, I am with the Inquisition…an agent of sorts, perhaps you heard of it. If there is a way to help this alienage, I would very much like to do so.” He hoped the man would not doubtingly scowl at him when he mentioned the Inquisition, as many have before.

Luckily, the man did not. “Ah, the Inquisition…it seemed to be on everyone’s lips these days although I hardly concern myself with such matters. Taking care of this alienage with the other Elders takes all the time and strength I have left, so I have little time to listen to rumors about upstart organizations,” he admitted. “So you serve that…Herald of Andraste, as they call him? Is he really the Maker’s chosen?”

Nymrodel stiffened at the title most people called him these days. It still felt wrong and unreal. He didn’t want to reveal who he truly was, not wanting to scare the man away with grand titles and baseless rumors about him. “I do not know, but the Inquisition is helping restore peace to Thedas and close the Breach in the sky. That much is true. And if I… _we_ , can help your people too, we will do whatever we can,” he promised.

He didn’t know if it was the guilt or the shock of these poor living conditions that pushed him to help the city elves, but whatever it was, he wanted to do some good for them. And in the end, did the reason even matter if he managed to make their lives even a little bit better?

Zatvel nodded and started telling Nymrodel of the conditions in the Val Royeaux alienage, discussing what the Inquisition could do for them. As the old elf spoke, Nym only grew paler with shocking disgust. Zatvel told him of the rations of supplies they were given by the city, which was hardly enough to keep everyone from starving. He told him of humans who would gang up and pick fights with the young elves in the alienage, but the elves could not fight back lest they earn the terrible and often murderous backlash by the city guards. He told him of nobles and newly-graduated Chevaliers who would come to the Alienage at night and test their new blades on any elf they could find out on the street. He spoke of elven mothers taken from their children and homes, driven away in gold coaches never to be seen again. He spoke of the sickness and poverty that would spread through the Alienage, yet the elves were often left to deal with it on their own.

The more Nym listened, the angrier he became. Lavellan’s hands clenched into fists, his blue eyes burning with cold fire.

‘Don’t be too argumentative when talking to humans, don’t be too brash or blunt, always look down and never look them in the eyes, don’t be too pretty, don’t argue even if you don’t get paid for your work.’ That is how these elves had to live. Struggle to survive every single day, always in fear of bringing some guard’s or noble’s wrath down upon them.

~..…~

By the time Nymrodel finished his visit, all light was already snuffed from the sky. He bowed slightly to Zatvel and thanked him for everything, promising the Inquisition will find a way to help his people, but somehow his words sounded hollow to him. He refused the man’s offer to escort him to the Alienage gates, knowing it would be too dangerous even for the hahren of the alienage to make his way back alone during the night.

The roguish elf walked softly, his step quick yet soundless as he made his way back to the main square. The Alienage was silent and clouded in darkness, so he only had the stars and the moon to light his way. He didn’t mind, however. Those big elven eyes weren’t just for show. He could see much better than any shem at least. His blue eyes gleamed in the darkness, filled with both anger and determination.

As he reached the square, he stopped at the Vhenadahl again. Unlike last time, he was the only one there at this hour. He could hear scuttling in a distant alleyway, though he didn’t know was it thieves or just rats. He ignored the restless darkness and placed his right palm on the tree like before. Closing his eyes, he paid his respects to the Tree of the People. Silently, he gave an oath under that tree – that he would do whatever he could for the elves in the alienages. That he would not abandoned them as so many of his Dalish brothers and sisters have.

He felt powerless, frustrated and pained, when Zatvel spoke before, and those feelings still persisted as he walked out of the area. He was angry at the whole country of Orlais, but he was also angry at himself. He cursed his own naivety. He was so blinded by Val Royeaux’s beauty, he failed to notice the darkness lurking below; in the gutters, where the elves lived.

He snuck out without the city guards noticing, easily as one would expect from a rogue. He glanced at them once, remembering what Zatvel said about the humans often testing their blades on the city elves during the night. Even if those guards weren’t involved, they surely let those humans in the alienage and knew exactly what was happening. Yet they turned a blind eye to it because it wasn’t their problem. They didn’t care that innocent elves were being slaughtered because they were just _knife-ears_. His eyes burned with rage and his fingers twitched, itching to unsheathe his daggers and slash through these guards, as he watched them from the darkness. They joked with each other, leaning against the alienage wall without a care in the world. It would be so simple to wipe that smiles off their faces. Replace them with fear.

Nym closed his eyes and took a deep breath, calming his raging mind. _*No, calm down. That is not the way to do things.*_ He could see his mentor’s and Keeper’s scolding faces in his mind’s eye. _‘You can’t just lash out at the world,’_ Ronas said to him once, and as usual, his mentor was right.

_*Besides, I can’t cause problems here, I represent the Inquisition now.*_ He reminded himself that he couldn’t act selfishly anymore, now that he had the Inquisition’s reputation to worry about. He could already see his advisors’ disapproving faces _. *It’s better to return to the others and prepare for the meeting with Enchanter Vivienne or whatever her name is.*_ The thought of dealing with those Orlesian nobles after seeing this alienage made him sick to his stomach. He will have to try exceptionally hard tonight not to let his bitterness show.   

~…..~

“Where have you been?! You’ve been gone for hours!” Cassandra practically jumped at him as soon as he entered the Inn. For a moment he honestly thought she was waiting for him the whole time at the entrance, like a watch-dog.

“I know, I know. My apologies, I got…delayed,” he mumbled, still being rather vague about his little trip.

“Well I have procured some clothes for you to wear at the salon this evening,” she continued on, taking out a large box filled with fine silks. At first Nym thought those _were_ the clothes, only to realize that was only the wrapping. Orlesians and their extravagance.  

He sighed, slightly irate. “Yes, because we wouldn’t want to offend anyone by me coming dressed as an actual elf…Creators forbid I come to them looking like a _savage_ ,” he spat darkly. “I mean, what would the humans say,” he added sarcastically, feigned shock on his features. It was meant to be just a snarky remark, but it came out more bitter than he intended. Obviously, he was still under the influence of everything he saw and heard at the Alienage. He cursed himself for the outburst. His restraint was usually better than that.

Cassandra watched him carefully. “Is something the matter?” Nothing escaped her sharp, inquisitorial eyes. She was trained for that.

His features relaxed and the lines on his forehead disappeared, smoothing out his vallaslin. He shook his head in defeat, “No, nothing. Don’t mind me.” He took the box of clothing from her hands and headed up the stairs to his room, “I’ll go wash up and get ready for…the _salon party_ ,” he groaned the last part as if it pained him physically just to think about it.

Cassandra gazed after him with worried eyes, but she stayed her tongue.

“He most likely went to the elven Alienage,” a familiar voice made her jump. Cassandra turned around to see Solas leaning on his staff as he watched Nym disappear up the stairs. She was always surprised how stealthily this apostate could move; a feat usually not associated with mages. Solas had been silent for some time now, the only one not asking questions when Nym decided to go off alone.

“How would you know such a thing?” Cassandra furrowed her eyebrows.

“The mud on his boots and at the end of his cloak. A cloak he didn’t previously have, so he went out of his way to buy it beforehand. Probably to hide his appearance. There is also a…smell around him. Quite different from the perfumed scent of the usual Val Royeaux streets, wouldn’t you say?”

This elf was sharp. If he wasn’t an apostate, Cassandra would think he would make a good Seeker with such keen observation skills.

“But why go there?”

“Curiosity, perhaps? Nym is a Dalish elf, he most likely never saw an elven alienage before, even if he heard the stories. Dalish study the past and dig up old ruins in hopes of finding some sliver of the Elvhenan Empire still there. They tend to their halla and aravels, and have their own way of living, set in their old ways and beliefs. Most of them don’t even care how their city cousins live...how they struggle. It must have been a shock for him to see the conditions of an elven alienage. And I hear the Val Royeaux one fares worst in all of Orlais.”

Despite his words, Solas remained calm, Cassandra realized. He didn’t show the same frustration Nym showed for the alienage elves’ plight. Perhaps he was just better at masking it, or perhaps he didn’t have much sympathy for them to begin with. She did remember the mage saying once that neither the Dalish nor the City elves were _his_ People. At that time, she just assumed he meant he didn’t hail from either of them.

“I see…,” the Seeker finally understood why Nym sounded so distressed. She could only imagine his feelings at seeing the elves in that state. For humans, it has already become the norm, but the Dalish usually didn’t interact with city elves.

She never thought of the poverty and starvation of the alienages as ‘normal,’ however. The elves were also children of the Maker and as such, they deserved to be taken care of just as much as anyone else. Even more, they were also citizens of Orlais, Ferelden or any other country, yet were often left forgotten. Cassandra knew this was wrong and the Chantry should do right by them, but she also knew if elves were given even a little bit of leeway, most of the nobles would instantly rise up and complain, fearing the elves would try for emancipation next. No country leader or Devine wants that heat in their political career, so they rather stay complaisant and keep the elves in their place.

“I feel bad for the elves, but there is nothing we can do about their situation. We would be better to focus on what we _can_ do, which is heal the sky,” she said. 

Varric, who was quietly listening to their conversation leaning against the hallway wall, walked over to them. “I don’t think telling Snow that would make him feel any better, Seeker. Perhaps you should keep that one to yourself,” he warned.

“I understand that, Varric,” Cassandra snarled back, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at him. “I am not as coldhearted as you depict me to be.”

“Hey, I’m just giving you some friendly advice. And I only depict what I see…I’m a writer, remember,” he taunted her on purpose, a grin spreading on his face.

“A writer with an overly wild imagination and inclined towards embellishment,” she reminded him, scrunching her nose in distaste.

~…..~

Nym walked out of the bath, not even trying to hide his nudity as he walked over to the bed where his new clothes awaited him. He had to painfully scrub his skin just to get the stench of the alienage out. But even if all evidence but his dirtied cloak was erased, he still couldn’t forget what he witnessed. Everything he heard about that place…

Droplets fell from his wet hair, staining the clothes beneath him. He stared at the fine formal suit laid out on the sheaths. Dark-blue cotton, laced with silver strings and a white sash for his waist. The elves of the Alienage probably never even saw such a splendid outfit, let alone wore one. Suddenly, anger rose up in his chest like bile, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He snarled, gritting his teeth until his jaw hurt. In a fit of anger, he grabbed the suit and flung it across the room. His eyes burned as he glared at the clothes, as if they somehow represented every noble in the city that ever disparaged the elves or every guard that ever hurt them.

The anger was gone as quick as it arose, leaving Nym a panting, powerless mess. He knew….even if he raged or ranted, he knew it wouldn’t change anything. He wanted to go to that soirée tonight and give all the nobles a piece of his mind, but he knew that wouldn’t help either. It would only make things worse for the Inquisition and maybe even the elves. The nobles would probably think the alienage elves are conspiring against them with the Inquisition, or something preposterous like that. What the Inquisition needed now were allies, wherever they could find them. The last thing they needed was for their reputation to become any more infamous, especially after the whole debacle with the Chantry.    

Understanding that, Nym’s gaze went blank. He felt numb, as coldness gripped at his heart. All he could do was go to that party and smile, pretending he couldn’t hear their insulting remarks about his heritage. He felt unclean because of it and he knew no amount of scrubbing in the bath would change that.

* * *

 

Glossary:

_Dirthara-ma_ – “May he learn” (Used as a curse)

_Vhenadahl_ \- The tree of the people

_Da’len_ – Child/Little one

_Andaran atish’an_ – Enter this place in peace (A formal elven greeting).

_Enaste_ – Blessings.

_Vhenas_ \- home

_En'an'sal'en sul mar arla_ – Blessings upon your home.

_Hahren_ – Elder (used as a term of respect by the Dalish as well as by city elves for the leader of an alienage)

_Ma serannas_ – I thank you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I really feel for the city elves, especially after reading the Masked Empire. :'( I read the novel after playing the game and it really makes you reevaluate your opinions on some of the characters (at least for me).  
> Thank you for reading, I hope it was an interesting chapter for you. Constructive criticism is always welcome, too!  
> 


	6. The High and the Low

 

Nym looked up at the large building towering over him – the grand mansion of Duke Bastien de Ghislain. The courtyard was a maze of green hedges and flowerbeds, decorated with carved marble statues of all shapes; Gargoyles spread their large wings and Chevaliers fought wyverns with their shining swords raised. The chateau itself had gilded windows and ornamented archways, depicting various scenes of Orlais history. High on top at the rooftop, golden statuettes of lions and dragons stood like guardians, looming over new arrivals.

It was truly a magnificent piece of architecture – that is what Nym would have thought only a day before. Yet now, all it did was remind him of that small, decrepit house Zatvel lived in. He stood under those gilded statues and wondered what was the use behind all this luxury. No other use than to flaunt their riches, he guessed.

This mansion was so big, his entire Clan could have settled in it. The Dalish always preferred practicality over flashiness, and a Dalish elf who showed off his material gain would be scorned or mocked for it. They shared everything they had with each other, so no one in the Clan would ever want for anything. It came natural to them – to help each other out. Yet these Orlesians were the exact opposite. They competed with each other to measure who had the most power or wealth. The reasons for it were beyond Nym's grasp of understanding – to him, such actions only seemed counterproductive.

He quickened his step, wanting to get this ordeal over with as soon as possible. Cassandra had found him some formal clothes that he could wear without eliciting disapproving gasps from the surrounding nobles. Luckily, the dark blue clothes weren't too ridiculous – they looked more like a formal military uniform chevaliers would wear at grand balls.

Music played lightly in the background – flutes and harps subtly complementing the chatter of the nobles. A man with a scroll came to him and checked his invitation, quickly announcing him in a clear voice, "Master Lavellan of the Inquisition."

As soon as he was inside, Nym's trained eyes darted across the room, analyzing the space around him. His mentor had taught him to always be completely aware of his surroundings. To always expect a threat, which could come from anywhere. And there were always openings where it was more likely the enemy could attack from.

His eyes didn't only inspect the room, but also the people in it. He noted there weren't many guests, more like a small soirée than a grand party, and surprisingly enough, he didn't see any guards around the area. If the place was guarded, the soldiers were elsewhere. He also caught interested glances, under the masks, that he was receiving. A lot of nobles pretended to go on with their conversations as he entered, but he could see their shoulders tensing and their eyes stealing glances at him when they thought he wasn't looking. Even without turning his head directly, he could see their nervous movements with the corners of his eyes. They were watching him carefully, measuring his every move. In return, he did the same, but was much better at hiding it because of his rogue training.

He proceeded up the stairs carefully, half out of wariness and half because he was trying hard not to offend with his actions. You never knew with those shem nobles what could set them off. Surprisingly, two humans cut him off, more direct than the others. Unlike those watching him from a distance, these two had no qualms about speaking with him – an agent of the Inquisition and a Dalish elf - he wasn't sure which was more scandalous to them.

The man spoke first, in a thick Orlesian accent. "A pleasure, ser. We so rarely have a chance to meet anyone new. It is always the same crowd at these parties." He didn't give Nym a chance to respond before he continued, "So you must be a guest of Madame de Fer. Or are you here for Duke Bastien?"

He opened his mouth to answer, only to get interrupted by the woman this time. These two bombarded him with questions, not even giving him a chance to answer any of them. "I have heard the most curious tales of you. I cannot imagine half of them are true."

_*Oh no, here we go,*_  Nym sighed mentally. Most of the rumors about him were either vicious slander or exaggerations of religious fanatics.

If the woman noticed his change in demeanor, she didn't acknowledge it. "Some say that when the Veil opened, Andraste herself delivered you from the Fade." She smiled, excitement visible even with her masked features.

The elf grimaced at her words. "That's just…speculation. Don't believe everything you hear." He was sure Cassandra or Mother Giselle would disapprove of his answer, since he didn't want to acknowledge the idea of being saved by Andraste or the Maker. He still didn't believe it was divine providence that put him in the center of the Inquisition.  _*I'm probably only alive now because of either pure luck, or because both Mythal and Elgar'nan pitied my fate and saved me,*_ he mused.

He decided to steer the conversation in a different course, before these two remember any more tales about him. "You mentioned Madame de Fer? I'm not familiar with that name. I was invited here by First Enchanter Vivienne."

The man chuckled as if he knew a secret Nym didn't. He decided to enlighten him, "Madame de fer is a… _fond_  nickname the Court has given Lady Vivienne."

"I heard she finds it amusing," the woman added.

_*The Lady of Iron,*_  Nym translated the epithet from what little Orlesian he knew. _*So the Imperial Enchanter wears it as a badge of pride rather than to take offense,*_ he realized, and hid a smirk.  _*I like that.*_

He remembered another name they mentioned. The man who was supposed to be the owner of this chateau. "What of Duke Bastien? I've heard very little of him. Is he here this evening too?"

The woman shook her head. "No. Honestly, he hasn't been seen much at Court lately."

The masked man continued, "His business with the Council of Heralds often takes him from home for long periods. It can't be good for a man of his years."

"And of course there's the civil war!" The woman interjected. "Bastien probably wishes to distance himself from his one-time son-in-law."

They were speaking in turns now, like some comical duo, and Nym had to switch his gaze from one to the other. It was making his head hurt.

"Tearing up the Dales in a foolish bid for power? It will end in disgrace for Gaspard, everyone knows it," the masked man huffed, disregarding the severity of it all.

Nym's lips tightened in a thin line. The Dales once belonged to his People. They were once filled with beautiful pastures for the halla and hills covered in green and gold colors as far as the eye could see. At least that's how the Elders of his Clan told the stories. And now, foolish shemlen were soaking those lands with even more blood, destroying the Dales with their power-hungry struggle.

"More importantly, I wish to hear more about the Inquisition! It has been the talk on everyone's lips lately," the masked woman giggled in excitement. "And it seems their agents are quite dashing as well," she gave him a wink, teasingly.

Nym was a bit taken aback by her flirtatious actions and tried to hide his blush. He didn't expect an Orlesian noble to flirt with him. At the back of his mind, an alarm went off to calm himself quickly, so he did. He needed to stay on guard. He reminded himself that these people rarely did anything without a cause. She probably just wanted to shake him up and see how he will react, or perhaps hoped he would be so startled as to let something meaningful slip about the Inquisition. But Josephine and Leliana had been educating him about the nobles, and they warned him that every subtle gesture or casual remark often meant something more.

"The Inquisition! What a load of pig shit!"

Before he had a chance to answer, the elf was saved, although by a rather rude interruption. He wasn't sure if this situation was better or worse for him.

A man came trotting down the stairs as if he owned the place. Like everyone else there, he also wore a noble's mask. He gave Nymrodel a contemptuous look while he spoke, "Washed-up sisters, crazed Seekers and  _savage elves_? No one can take them seriously." The man descended down to stop right in front of the agent of the Inquisition, smirking in the elf's face. He spoke loudly and clearly on purpose, so that everyone could hear. He was challenging Nym with his words. "Everyone knows it's just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power." He stared at Nym's reactions intently, trying to provoke him on purpose by insulting his elven heritage among other things.

Lavellan could tell everyone's eyes were on them now, watching carefully what the elf would do next.  _*I need to stay calm and find the right words to defuse the situation before it becomes an incident,*_  he decided, smiling to himself when he realized he sounded just like Josephine. He was sure Lady Montilyet would be proud if she could hear him now.

"The Inquisition is working to restore peace and order to Thedas. We have no ulterior motives," he explained politely, although his bright blue eyes burned with ire. He wasn't as good at masking his emotions as the nobles of Orlais.

The man was unimpressed and simply laughed in his face. "Here comes the outsider! Restoring peace, with an army!" As he said that, he looked around the room, arms raised as if he was calling the other nobles to join him in chastising the Inquisition.

However, Nym noticed the others didn't appear as pleased as this man was with himself. They were all reserved in giving him any support and some watched him with disapproval.

The man ignored this lack of support and turned back to the Herald. He walked closer, towering over the elf and reveling in their height difference. This was one of those times Nym secretly cursed his small elven stature.

The man sneered, "We know what your  _Inquisition_  truly is," he spat the word out as if it was something revolting. Stepping even closer, too close for Nym's liking, he continued, "If you were a man of honor, you'd step outside and answer the charges!"

The elf's eyes narrowed dangerously as he had enough of this man's insults.  _*He's cornering me into a dual on purpose. If I don't agree to it, it will only present the Inquisition as weak and dishonorable. I have no choice but to accept,*_ he realized. The man must've been so sure of his victory against the elf. Unfortunately for him, Nym had no intention of losing either.  _*He wants a dual? So be it. I'll wipe the floor with this two-bit noble ass.*_ His Dalish blood boiled and he opened his mouth to accept the invitation, only to jerk back in surprise when the man before him froze – in a literal sense.

Everyone gasped at the sudden change of events, while Nym took a few steps back and watched with wide-eyes. A thin film of ice covered the man before him; from his neck to his feet, only leaving his face bare. The man stood in his pose without being able to lift a finger, while the ice shimmered on his body. It only took Nymrodel a split second to realize magic was involved.

A voice, collected and even, spoke from atop the stairs. The startled crowd gazed up, staring at the woman standing on top. "My dear Marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in  _my_  house…to  _my_  guests." Her every word, as polite as it seemed, was like an icy dagger sent the Marquis' way. She slowly descended the stairs, her each step refined. She moved with poise and grace, much like the Empress herself would. "You know such rudeness is…intolerable." She came down to join the gathered group, walking with sophistication across the room, until she stopped between the Marquis and Nymrodel.

She wore elegant mage robes, though no staff was present at her side. As with everyone else, a mask graced her features, hiding flawless dark skin underneath. Only beautiful dark eyes and lush plump lips were visible. A hat with two horns as ornaments covered her head, making her even taller than she truly was. The high-heels also helped.

"Madame Vivienne," the masked man exclaimed in alarm. He suddenly became very apologetic – a completely different person from a minute ago. "I humbly beg your pardon!"

_*So this is the Imperial Enchanter, Madame de Fer,*_  the rogue elf realized when he heard the Marquis address her. He guessed as much.

"You should," the woman responded. There was no warmth in her voice, only feigned civility. "Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?" She sighed as if troubled, then looked back at Nymrodel. "My Lord, you are the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?"

The rogue couldn't help but think this was some kind of test. As if his answer will show Vivienne what kind of a man he truly was. Orlesians and their games…He bit his lower lip, looking back at the now-terrified Marquis. A game or not, Nym could only do what he felt was right, despite what the others will think.

The Marquis, as arrogant as he was, only ran at the mouth. He didn't do any real harm to Nym other than insult him. Executing him for being obnoxious and picking a fight seemed a bit excessive. And if that were a real crime, Nym guessed half of Orlesian nobility would be in prison by now. He sighed, letting his temper subside, "I think the Marquis has seen the error of his ways. I can see he is all bark and no bite," he added one last jab towards the man. Small victories.

The Imperial Enchanter grabbed the man by the chin, making him look her right in the eyes. "You are in luck the Inquisition is so merciful. By the grace of Andraste, you have your life, my dear. Do be more careful with it," she warned. With one snap of her elegant fingers, all magic was gone. The Marquis took a deep breath as he was released from her icy spell.

_*Andraste?*_  Nym raised one thin eyebrow. He was quite sure it wasn't Andraste who froze him nor spared his life just now.  _*Are all of my actions going to be simply written off as the will of the gods? The Maker, no less, a god I don't even believe in.*_  That was unsettling, to say the least.

He silently watched the masked man leave the soirée in a quick pace. He couldn't disappear fast enough and was practically restraining himself from running.

Madame Vivienne turned towards him with a pleasant smile as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "I'm delighted you could attend this little gathering. I've so wanted to meet you," she greeted. She looked pleased with him, for whatever reason. Perhaps because he decided to spare the Marquis' life. With the most subtle gesture of her head, she prompted him to follow her as she turned to find a place where they could speak in private.

As they walked, Vivienne told him more about the Marquis he just encountered so rudely. "His aunt is the Vicomtesse of Mont-De-Glace – not a powerful family, but well-respected… and very devout. Alphonse will be disowned for this. It's not the first time he's brought his aunt disgrace, but I'm sure it'll be the last."

They reached an empty corridor, where there were no guests to listen in on their conversation. They stopped in front of an open window and the night breeze gently caressed Nym's skin. She spoke again, "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court."

"Those are some big fancy titles," the elf commented although he didn't quite look impressed as one would expect. However, he  _was_  impressed by that little stunt she pulled. Freezing your enemies rock solid? Now that could be useful.

Vivienne chuckled, "Quite. Unnecessary from a Dalish perspective, I suppose," she poked right back at him.

"We sure don't have such…interesting parties back home, that much is true," he answered with a wry smile.

"I'm glad to keep you entertained, my dear," she jested with a chuckle. However, her tone soon grew serious. "Let me get right to the point then. I wanted to meet face to face. It is important to consider one's connections carefully. With Devine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. Only the Inquisition might restore sanity and order to our frightened people. As the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause," she explained.

Nym raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Loyal mages? Loyal to whom, exactly?"

Vivienne smiled, "To the people of Thedas, of course. We have not forgotten the commandment, as some have; that magic exists to serve men, not rule over them. I support any effort to restore such order."

Ah, yes, the most debated notion in all of Thedas' history, perhaps. It sounded so simple a statement, yet could be construed in so many different ways. The best example for that was the difference in opinion on mages between Tevinter and the South.

"So you are in favor of returning the mages to the Circles then," he asked, not hiding his surprise.

That seemed quite unlikely to him. The mages have made their stance clear and had no desire to return to how things used to be. How was anyone supposed to just  _make_  them go back, unless they intended to treat them as slaves or prisoners. He detested the idea. He knew the dangers of magic, better than most in his Clan, but that didn't mean he wanted mages forced and locked up in Circles against their will. Wasn't that exactly the reason why Kirkwall mages rebelled in the first place? At least he remembered Varric saying something similar about it once.

"Where else can mages safely learn to master their talents?" Vivienne answered his question with her own, as if reading his mind and countering his thoughts. "We need an institution to protect and nurture magic. Maker knows, magic will find neither on its own."

* _I can agree with that much, at least,*_  he thought. So maybe they just needed different oversight. Not Templars; the intimidating often-corrupt-with-power warriors, but something more….gentle, yet still supervising and guiding them? Nym thought about it, but quickly realized that was a complicated discussion left for another time. Besides, it wasn't the Inquisition's job to plan out Thedas' infrastructure for the Mages. Even though he had a feeling Vivienne intended it to be.

And that thought brought him to another question. He sized the mage carefully, "So what do you expect to get out of joining us?" He knew there had to be a catch. There was always a catch.

If she had ulterior motives, it didn't show on her face. "The same thing anyone gets by fighting this chaos; the chance to meet my enemy, to decide my fate. I won't wait quietly for destruction."

"So you'd rather jump into the fray than wait on the sidelines and see how the wind blows?  _That_ , I can respect," the elf grinned.

"I suspect we have that in common," she smiled.

He hummed, "So what exactly can you do for the Inquisition?" He was sure her magic would be useful out in the field, yet as the Imperial Enchanter of the Court, he doubted she had much field or battle experience. He found it hard to picture her strutting around the wild in high-heels and fighting demons in a corset.

"I am well versed in the politics of the Orlesian Empire. I know every member of the Imperial Court personally," she begun.

_*That would probably be useful for our Lady Ambassador,*_  Nym calculated, already contemplating ways Vivienne's expertise could be used. Leliana must have rubbed off on him, as that was usually her way of thinking.

"I have all the resources remaining to the Circle at my disposal," she continued.

_*We have some mages in the Inquisition. The Circle's resources might help them,*_  he mulled.

"And I'm a mage of no small talent," she finished. "Will that do?"

The elf grinned, pleased by her answer. "That sounds pretty useful, yes. Just one more thing; are you going to serve as liaison between the Inquisition and the Imperial Palace?"

"Ordinarily, that would be the case. But these are not ordinary times." For the first time since their conversation started, he saw her frown. "The Veil has been ripped apart and there is a hole in the sky. It is now the duty of every mage to work towards sealing the Breach, and so I would join you in the felid of battle."

The rogue blinked, a bit surprised but far from displeased. He was impressed that she would go as far as fighting battles alongside them in the field, even when those were hardly her duties before. She was taking the Inquisition's cause quite seriously, and they could hardly turn away such determined aid.

He nodded in agreement, "The Inquisition would be happy to have you, Lady Vivienne." He gave her a small bow and a polite smile.

The Imperial Enchantress returned the smile. She looked genuinely satisfied. "Excellent! Great things are beginning, my dear, I can promise you that much." Then she gestured back towards her salon where all her guests awaited. She gently guided the elven rogue back, subtly telling him it was time for them to return to the party. "Now, I need to go back and attend to my guests. Comte Gascon will absolutely sulk the entire evening if I don't greet him properly. Please, do stay and enjoy yourself, my dear. We have filtrated wyvern blood. Usually it is poisonous, but if distilled properly and mixed with wine, I hear it gives one quite a buzz." He couldn't tell if she was joking or not. Knowing Orlesian tastes, probably not; only they would drink poison and call it a delicacy.

"Actually, Lady Vivienne, I'm afraid I must take my leave. I have another…engagement." He left out the details, although his next meeting was rather vague in its own accord. He was quite glad for it, though, as it gave him the perfect excuse to bolt out of here and leave the oppressing scenery of the Orlesian nobility. In truth, he didn't want to spend any more time here than he had to.

"The life of one Herald of Andraste is never dull, I see," Vivienne jested, but she didn't try to persuade him to stay. He was grateful for that, at least. He was so tired of all this dancing around with words, polite speech and manner he usually didn't use. Not to mention the constraining clothing. Even shemlen armor was better than this formal attire.

The elf gave her a drained smile. "You have no idea…But I'm sure you will find out soon enough when you join us, Lady Vivienne." With a final nod, he hurriedly left the chateau, barely giving note to the other nobles who gazed after him curiously.

"I'm sure I will, my dear," the Court Enchanter murmured to herself as she watched the Herald leave, a satisfied sly smile on her delicate features.

~…..~

It was as if Nym's whole world turned up-side down in a matter of hours. What felt like only a while ago, he was standing in a mansion that told of riches and power, yet now he was walking around dark, shady alleyways where no noble would want to find themselves during the night.

Cassandra, Solas and Varric walked behind him as he followed the badly-drawn map towards the large courtyard that was their destination. At least he hoped it was – it was hard to tell on this note.

"Ah," Nym exclaimed happily when he stopped abruptly in front of large doors, the group behind him almost bumping into his lean back. "It's here…I think."

"Be careful, we don't know what is behind those doors," Cassandra warned, unsheathing her longsword and taking the shield in her left hand.

The rogue elf opened the doors, cautious of whatever they might find. Cassandra's warning was correct. No sooner than he opened the doors of the courtyard, a fireball flew at him. Nym caught the flame’s light as it moved and instantly dodged, spinning his upper body. The fireball crashed into the doors beside him – too close for comfort as he could feel heat singe his cheek.

"Take cover!" The elf called out to his companions and quickly unsheathed his dual daggers, jumping to the side to dodge another fireball aimed at him.

"So it was a trap, after all," Solas called out, ready to summon his protective barrier around the group.

"I think this is the 'baddie that wants to hurt the Herald' the letter was talking about," Varric reminded them of the warning they received in the mysterious note.

Nym was just about to draw in close to the enemy, when the man shooting fireballs at them suddenly stopped. It gave him a chance to examine the mage closer. He was wearing a fashionable Orlesian outfit and a mask that hid his face. To Nym, he didn't look any different from the nobles he met earlier that night. Perhaps Madame Vivienne would be able to tell the difference, but these masked flamboyant types all looked the same to him.

"Herald of Andraste!" The man called out in an arrogant tone, sizing up the elf before him. "How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably!"

_*Huh?*_ Nym stood up from his cover carefully and looked at the strange man, rising one eyebrow. "Do I even know you?"

"Do not play coy with me," the masked mage shouted back. "You don't fool me. I'm too important for this to be a coincidence! My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere!"

Nym, for one, had no idea what this man was talking about. The puzzled expression never left his face as he stared at the human. "What efforts? What are you even doing here?"

He never got an answer as a distant sound startled them all. A dying cry was heard somewhere in a back alley.

"He has allies, it seems," Solas called out a warning, grabbing his staff with both hands in preparation.

Surprisingly, only one person stepped out of the darkness. A lone archer, a young elven girl wearing a simple tunic and without a mask hiding her features. She didn't look like she was an ally of the masked mage.

"Just say  _what_ ," the girl called out, her sharp big eyes trained on the man, just like her arrow.

The man was clearly taken aback. "What is the-"

Before he had time to finish, the arrow flew and pierced him right in the eye. It was a perfect shot. The man dropped to his knees and then on his back, without uttering another word.

"Eww, I hate squishy ones," the elven girl exclaimed with disgust on her face, as if she wasn't the one who just killed the man in the first place.

Nym blinked in wonder, watching the young woman strap her bow on her back and step over the dead body as she made her way to his group.

"So you followed the notes well enough," she started with a smile, only for it to fall when she stood before Nym. "Aaaaand you're an elf." The frown stayed on her face as she continued, "Well, hope you're not….too _elfy_." Nym wasn't quite sure what that was supposed to mean. Did she expect him to start frolicking through orlesian flowerbeds or dance naked under the moonlight?

"Did the ears or the vallaslin give it away," he asked sarcastically, with a smirk. She was an elf too, yet she looked like she had a problem with him being one. He experienced a lot of different reactions from people, being an elf, but from his own race – now that was new even for him.

"Valla-what?" The girl cocked her head in question, but then shook it and shrugged. "I mean,'s all good, innit! The important thing's you glow. You're the Herald-thingy!" The excited smile returned to her face.

Nym looked down at his left hand where his mark, albeit dormant, still glowed gently with that strange green light.  _*She must be referring to the Mark,*_  he guessed. He shrugged, "Sure, I glow…and sometimes I sparkle, or glitter…," he joked, keeping his expression casual like it was no big deal.

"So what's all this about," Varric asked, interrupting the ludicrous conversation as he stepped forward.

"No idea. I don't know this idiot for manners!" The girl watched the body on the ground with a clearly clueless expression. "My people just said the Inquisition should look at him."

Nym raised an eyebrow, "Your people? Elves?" Was there some elven underground network in Val Royeaux he didn't know about?

The archer girl snorted, "No.  _People_  people." She acted like she explained everything with that, but Nym felt no more enlightened than before. "Name's Sera," she finally introduced herself, then pointed at some old crates left in the courtyard. "This is cover. Get round it!"

"What for?!" This time it was Cassandra who demanded answers. Nym could see an unamused scowl on her face and he would bet anything she was starting to have a headache from this whole exchange.

"For the reinforcements," the girl exclaimed like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Apparently she forgot people couldn't read her mind. She gave them the most devilish grin, "Don't worry, someone tipped me their equipment shed. They've got no breeches." She was barely holding in the laughter now.

Nymrodel and his group only glanced at each other in wonder.

They didn't have to ponder about her words long as Nym's acute hearing picked up on distant shouts and footsteps approaching them. "More are coming this way," he warned, gripping both of his daggers in his hands.

"Duh, that's what I said! Reinforcements," Sera repeated, jumping behind a small wall that separated the lawn in the middle from the cobblestone road. She barely turned before shooting an arrow from her bow, which pierced one of the incoming men in the neck just as he appeared around the corner.

One the other side of the courtyard, new enemies were coming as well. A light snap of the crossbow was heard. Three warriors ran out, but stopped short in confusion when the moonlight above them disappeared. Looking up, the trio gasped when they realized the sky was filled with short, but strong crossbow bolts, casting a shadow over them. They only had time for a surprised yelp before the bolts rained down on them, piercing through their armor effortlessly. The three men fell, riddled with holes and arrows.

Varric hummed, satisfied with his handiwork and started to reload. He barely had the time when an angry shout came from his right and a man with a sword raised high in the air came running at him. The dwarf was momentarily distracted when he noticed his opponent had no pants.

His enemy didn't get very far before a flashing light blinded both of them. A bolt of magical lightning struck right into the man and when the flash was gone, all that was left was a twitching dead body in charred armor. The armor had a pierced hole where the bolt had struck, with smoke still coming out of it.

Meanwhile, Cassandra and Nym soundlessly made an agreement to sweep each side of the staircase as they made their way up through the enemies. The Seeker started with the left staircase, supported by Sera's onslaught of arrows behind her. She made a war cry that would freeze the blood of any warrior in their veins as she faced her first opponent.

He was holding a sword and a shield just like her, but the woman noticed his shield was too high up. He was so focused on protecting his face, he left his knees exposed. They rushed at each other, and in the last moment before their swords could meet, Cassandra stomped on the man's knee as hard as she could. A sickly crack was heard, followed by a pained scream as his knee broke like a twig. He fell to his other knee, lowering his shield. It gave Cassandra an opening to bring down her sword and pierce through his face, right below the eye.

Pulling her sword back from the man, she wasted no time before engaging the next one in combat. He was already on her and she only had time to spin around and hold up her shield as the blow came down at her. It hit her metallic shield and the enemy's sword harmlessly slid off it. Cassandra bashed her shield against the man, making his stumble as he lost his balance. She quickly moved her shield to the side and struck with her sword, swinging down and cutting into the man's shoulder all the way to the collarbone. He chocked in pain and fell on his face before her feet. She finished him off with a clean pierce into his neck that stopped his breathing.

Her expression twisted in disgust when she noticed both her opponents she just killed had no breeches on, just like the elven archer said. "These men have no pants!"

Not far behind, Sera laughed loudly, unable to hold it in any longer. "I know! No breeches… hahahaha!"

The mage sighed next to her. "Then why didn't you take their weapons, instead." He spun his staff once and knocked back an incoming arrow with a blast of energy.

"Because, no breeches! I mean, just look at 'em!" She was laughing hard now, yet still managed to skillfully take out an archer who hid at the top of the staircase and aimed his bow at Cassandra.

Meanwhile, Nymrodel stayed on the low and in the shadows. He carefully snuck up the right staircase that led to the terrace. There, enemy archers were shooting down at his companions, and even though they didn't manage to really hurt anyone yet, the rogue knew he had to make quick work of them. His steps were inaudible as he moved, his daggers out and ready. He even held his breath as not to be heard by the nearest archer he was aiming for. When he was finally close enough, the man too focused on his enemies below, the elf moved quickly. He stuck one dagger into the back of the man's neck, then held the body close, as a shield, when the other archer noticed him and sent out an arrow his way.

He pushed the dead man towards the other archer, crouched low and rushed at him, who was still panicked by the body of his dead comrade on him. Archers were tough to handle from a distance since he had to come close, while they had advantage of range. But once close enough, they were lightly armored which provided many openings and their bow was little help to them up close.

The man struggled to get free of the dead body, and finally managed it by pushing it away. He frantically looked around for the rogue, only to realize he lost sight of him. Not for long. Nym appeared on the man's other side, kicked his longbow out of the way, and slashed at his throat. A thin line of red appeared and the man's eyes widened as he gasped for breath that wouldn't come. He fell to the ground, blood pooling around him.

"There's one here!" One of the two remaining archers raised the alarm and warned his companion. He was already nocking an arrow and Nym realized he had to move, now! He jumped into a forward roll to close the distance quickly, then slashed at the man's inner thigh before the other could aim low at him. The thigh split as he hit the main artery, the blood spurting out. His other dagger went from below and up, then stabbed the man right in the crotch. He might have had armor at the front, but as expected, there was none from below. The man screamed in unendurable pain, his eyes wide in horror. Nym pulled back his daggers and jumped back into the shadows before the body even had time to hit the floor. He did it right in time too, as an arrow came flying passed his ear just as he moved.

In the darkness, Nym held his breath and watched the human archer dart around in confusion, with his bow still drawn and ready. The man was breathing so loud, Nym could've pinpointed his exact location without looking. The archer's nerves clearly got the better of him as his hand slightly trembled on the bow. A grave mistake. The Dalish elf had enough experience with the bow to know a steady hand was crucial when setting off an arrow. Just one slip of the hand was enough for the arrow to completely miss its target.

He waited patiently and timed his attack just right, when the man had his bow aimed further from him. That's when the elf rushed out of the shadows, both daggers raised in front of him while he ran, in case he would have to block an incoming arrow. As expected, the man was too startled to concentrate and the arrow he set loose flew passed Nym, not even close enough to worry him. The human at least had enough experience to realize he wouldn't have time to reload the bow. He cast it to the side and unsheathed a short sword he carried at his belt. Yet a short sword against two dual daggers was a great disadvantage, and they both knew it.

As Lavellan ran at him, the man waited until the elf was close enough and then slashed towards him in one desperate attempt to stop him. He didn't even try to block the sword, but instead ducked below it and then sliced with both his daggers at the man's stomach. The other stumbled backwards and then fell to the ground, clutching his opened gut in pain. Nym kicked the short sword away from the human's hand, just in case, and then finished him off with one quick slice across the throat.

Looking up, he saw the others were finishing, as well. All the enemies were on the ground, already dead or dying. He sheathed back his daggers and jumped over the terrace, gracefully landing on the cobblestone below. "I think we're done here," he checked around for any survivors, but there was no suspicious movements around them.

Sera grinned again. "Friends really came through with that tip." She chuckled, "No breeches…It doesn't get any less funny." She strode to Nym, watching him closely from the tip of his ears to the points of his boots. "So, Herald of Andraste…you're a strange one."

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing," he chuckled, staring back at Sera just as shrewdly.

"I'd like to join," the elf girl suddenly proclaimed.

"Well that was rather out of the blue," Varric commented, walking over to them. "Not that I would mind having another rogue in our merry band," he added with a smirk.

"What makes you think we can trust you so easily," Cassandra asked with suspicion. It seemed being wary of people's intentions was in her nature as a Seeker.

"She did help us with that tip," Solas reminded. "Although, it would have been better if we had time to interrogate him and perhaps learn who he was."

"Then he would have time to shout magic!" Sera countered, then sighed, "Look, it's like this. I sent you a note to look for hidden stuff by my friends – the friends of Red Jenny. That's me."

Nym frowned, "I thought you said your name was Sera?"

The elven girl shrugged. "Yeah, it's both. I mean, I'm one. There's also some woman in Kirkwall, a fence in Montfort and three brothers in Starkhaven. 'S just a name, yeah? Let's little people,  _friends_ , be part of something while they stick it to nobles they hate," she explained. "So here, in your face. I'm Sera. "The Friends of Red Jenny" are sort of out there. I used them to help you. Plus arrows," she grinned at the last part.

"So you offer….spies?" Nym tried to make sense of what she was saying. "We already have those…professionals." Unlike Leliana's agents, the people Sera was talking about didn't sound like professionally trained spies.

The girl raised up her hands and brought them together as she explained, "Here's how it is. You 'important' people are up here, shoving your cods around. Blah blah, I'll crush you. I'll crush  _you._ " Her explanation trailer off course as she lost focus and fell into some fantasy, making kissing sounds in a rather embarrassing display. "Mmmm. Oh, crush you."

The rest of them only watched her in silence, jaws slack and thoroughly weirded out.

"We don't have time for this," Cassandra made a sound between a sigh and a growl, losing patience.

Sera cleared her throat as she was brought back to reality. "Ahem, right." She returned back to her explanation, "Then you got cloaks and spy kings, like this tit. Or was he one of the little knives, all serious with his…little knife." Once again she was in her own thoughts, only confusing her audience further. Luckily, she returned back to her senses on her own this time. "All those secrets, and what gave him up? Some houseboy who don't know shite, but knows a bad person when he sees one. So no, I'm not Knifey Shivdark, all hidden. But if you don't listen down here too, you risk your breeches. Like those guards. I stole their…pfft," she started laughing again, but managed to stifle it. "Look. Do you need people or not? I want to get everything back to normal. Like you." She smiled up at the other elf.

He thought about it carefully. She was skilled with a bow, that much was clear, and perhaps her contacts could get information in places Leliana's agents couldn't. She did say she served 'the little people,' or protected them, at least. If she was someone who cared about them, could she really be a bad person? Nym didn't think so. "Alright, Sera. Welcome to the Inquisition," he smiled at her.

The girl's face brightened up like a child on their birthday. "Yes! Get in good before you're too big to like. That'll keep your breeches where they should be."

Nym sure hoped so.

"Anyway, Haven! See you there, Herald. This will be grand," she exclaimed excitedly before turning on her heels and disappearing back into the darkness where she came from.

Nym and the rest simply blinked, staring at the dark in silence. Lavellan couldn't help but chuckle at the irony as he thought back on a few hours earlier when he was recruiting an Imperial Enchantress, crème de la crème of the noble society. Yet now, here he was, allying with the self-proclaimed voice of the 'little people' in a dark alleyway. The Inquisition sure took him to strange places, and he was recruiting all sorts of people in their ranks – but he liked that diversity.

"Was it really wise to recruit her? We know nothing about her," he heard Cassandra ask behind his shoulder.

He put his hands on his hips like a man filled with confidence and answered in complete certainty, "No idea. Guess we'll find out."

Varric chuckled and Solas sighed.

"Ugh," the Seeker responded with an annoyed grunt, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

~…..~

Nym sluggishly threw over his shoulder what little luggage he took with him to Val Royeaux, as him and his companions prepared for departure. It has been nine days since they left Haven, as it took them almost a week to travel to the Capital by horseback, and now he had to prepare for the same long journey back. The long uncomfortable ride wasn't something he was looking forward to, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't anxious to leave Val Royeaux behind. It had been turbulent two days here and it left him with complicated feelings over everything he experienced, along with an abundance of things to think over. They recruited new members of the Inquisition, made a few possible contacts for Lady Montilyet with the nobles, but also uncovered new problems, such as the elven Alienage Nym promised to aid. He  _had_  to find a way. Not to mention the whole mess with the Chantry and Lord Seeker Lucius. That hardly went as planned.

Unfortunately, their eventful visit to the Capital didn't end yet.

The group was slowly making their way through the crowd on the Avenue of the Sun, heading towards The Night Gate. It was a less imposing, yet equally grand entrance to the Capital, and right outside were the stables where their trusted steeds awaited them. Master Dennet had acquired yet another Ferelden Thoroughbred for Nym to use – it wasn't a speedy horse, but it had great endurance, which was perfect for making long journeys. As expected, the horsemaster knew exactly what they needed for each travel.

They just reached The Night Gate when Cassandra abruptly stopped. Nym almost bumped nose-first in her armored back.

"What is it," he asked with a frown at the sudden stop.

"Grand Enchanter Fiona?" Cassandra's voice sounded surprised, meant more as a question than an answer for him.

The roguish elf peeked behind the warrior and noticed an elven woman standing before them. She was wearing mage robes, but carried no staff, probably so as not to alert the citizens. Unlike the Seeker, Nym had never met the woman nor did he know what she looked like, but he recognized the name immediately. After all, it was repeated countless times during their War Council meetings as she was the leader of the mage rebellion and perhaps the only one who could help them rally the mages to seal the Breach.

_*But the last I heard, the mages didn't want to even meet with us,*_  the elf thought suspiciously.  _*So why now?*_

"Leader of the mage rebellion?" It seemed Solas, who only knew the woman by name as well, had the same idea as Nym.

"If I might have a moment of your time," the woman started and walked over to them.

"Is it not dangerous for you to be here," Solas asked.

"More importantly,  _what_  are you doing here," Nym interjected, stepping out of Cassandra's shadow to face the Grand Enchanter.

"I have heard the famed Herald of Andraste was in Val Royeaux, so I came as quickly as I could. I wanted to see him with my own eyes," she turned her gaze towards the rogue elf, her two green eyes piercing him analytically. "I was at the Chantry gathering and I heard what you said…if it is the help with the Breach you seek, perhaps the Mages can be of assistance?"

"So now you're willing to help us, all of a sudden?" Nym was skeptical. It just seemed too good to be true. Too sudden and too convenient.

"We are willing to  _discuss_  it, at least," she corrected him. She wasn't ready to make any promises just yet. "Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe; come and meet with the Mages. An alliance might help us both."

"I'm surprised you weren't at the Conclave." Cassandra's suspicious frown never left her face as she examined the Grand Enchanter carefully.

Fiona snorted at that. "Neither was Lord Seeker, you'll note." She sighed, still seeing a bit of accusation in Cassandra's eyes. "Both of us sent our representatives to meet with the Devine. A precaution, in case it was a trap." She shrugged, "I won't pretend I'm not glad to live. I've lost many dear friends that day….it disgusts me to think the Templars will get away with it," her expression turned sour. "I'm hoping you won't let them."

Varric blinked in wonder, "You think the Templars are behind it?"

Cassandra, on the other hand, understood where the mage was coming from. "Why wouldn't she?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because there's no evidence to support that accusation," Nym raised an eyebrow. "Although I will agree that Lord Seeker Lucius is an ass," he muttered, ignoring the dirty look Cassandra gave him.

"There are no evidence the mages did it either," Solas countered and Fiona gave them an approving nod.

"Lucius hardly seems broken up about his losses…if he's concerned about them at all. You heard him. You think he wouldn't happily kill the Devine to turn people against us? So yes, I think he did it. More than I think  _you_  did it, at any rate." She turned back to Lavellan. "It is your decision, but know that the Mages are willing to talk. We will be waiting at Redcliffe Village." She nodded to the group as a farewell and left without looking back.

"Well I guess our visit to Val Royeaux wasn't completely wasted," the dwarf noted.

"So we might acquire the mages for the Breach. Excellent. I advise you to accept and meet them, at least," Solas added.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We should discuss it with everyone back at Haven," Cassandra warned.

"I agree. We need to tell Leliana, Cullen and Josephine everything that happened. Our Commander won't be pleased with the news of the Templars, I imagine," Nym sighed.

As they walked out of the Capital and towards the stables, Nym felt a sense of accomplishment for the Inquisition's efforts, but also frustration. He felt like they were only getting started and the steps they took forward were far too small for his liking. He chuckled. Ronas always warned him he was too impatient – a bad trait for a rogue to have. But then he thought back on Zatvel in the elven Alienage and his heart sank again. He stared at his left palm and the mark gently glowing from it. Even through his leather gloves, the shine was still visible. It had stopped expanding, but was still unnervingly there – much like the Breach.

_*If we close the Breach, will the mark disappear too?*_  He hoped so. It wasn't exactly painful, but having unknown magic in his body couldn't be good for him. Even though he was slowly becoming proficient at closing fade rifts, he still felt his energy being drained every time he used the mark.

"You coming, Snow?"

He was jerked back from his musings by Varric's voice and looked up to see they made their way to the stables. The others were watching him carefully, already up ahead.

The elf steeled his heart, not wanting to worry them. Even if he worried about his mark, there wasn't anything he could do about it. And considering the state of the world, it really was more of a blessing to have a way to close the rifts than a curse.  _*Perhaps it was the Creators who have given me this mark, as a way to test me – they have given me a way to help the world and it is on me to decide how to do so.*_ Yet part of him knew that could've been just wishful thinking. After all, the Creators have been silent for a long time now.

He looked back at Varric, Cassandra and Solas, already preparing their horses for departure. He also remembered all the people back at Haven. The Inquisition was growing in size daily.  _*But I am not alone in this…at least that gives me some comfort,*_ he smiled at the warm thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And slowly, Nym's circle is becoming bigger. ^^  
> Thank you all for reading!


	7. The Heavyweight arrives

“It might be too dangerous,” Cullen shook his head. “I still think we shouldn’t give up on the Templars.”

“What choice do we have? If you heard Seeker Lucius, you’d know they don’t want anything to do with us” Nym sighed.

“And the mages can use their power to enable the Herald to seal the Breach,” Leliana added.

“The Templars might be useful, just the same. They can weaken the Breach so the Herald can-,” the ex-Templar countered, but was cut off before he had the chance to finish.

“That is pure speculation,” Leliana argued.

“I _was_ a Templar. I know what I’m talking about. Don’t write the Templars off so quickly. Besides, we are not equipped to oversee so many mages, it’s too dangerous for them all to be in Haven.”

They were having the same circular argument at the War Council, as weeks before. Approach the Templars or Mages? Even though Grand Enchanter Fiona clearly invited them to Redcliffe Village for talks, Cassandra and Cullen still argued against the idea, pointing out it was too dangerous.

Lavellan sighed, having enough of the same-old discussion that wasn’t going anywhere. His patience was wearing thin. They only just got back from their journey, he was tired and in a desperate need of a bath. Especially since they fought demons and bandits on the way back, and he closed two more rifts. It appeared they were opening more frequently now. Unfortunately, he never got to draw that bath since they needed to summon the Council immediately and tell the advisors everything that happened in Val Royeaux.

“You know what else is dangerous,” he started. “A giant hole in the sky that’s spouting out demons,” he reminded them, trying his best to mask his annoyed expression. “That should be our priority and we luckily obtained a chance to deal with it – the Mages. I don’t want to lose that opportunity. I’ll take a small group with me to Redcliffe and hear what the Grand Enchanter has to say.”

“We _must_ make a compromise with them. We _need_ them,” Leliana reminded, putting emphasis on her words.

“But at what cost, Leliana,” Cassandra asked. She was worried what the Mages would ask in return and if the price would be too high.

“That, we won’t know unless we meet with them,” their lady ambassador reminded them. “We shall have to wait and see.” Even she looked exhausted from all the bickering, and she was used to _Antivan_ politics, which from her stories were ten times more heated. “Other issues have also arisen. Blackwall’s company informed us there truly are Tevinters in the Hinterlands. They are clearly up to something.”

“And not just Ferelden. My agents reported the same thing throughout Orlais, and even Navarra. They are growing in numbers. They don’t look like the Imperium’s official forces, but rather some kind of cultist order, although what they worship, I do not know…yet,” Leliana spoke.

 Lavellan frowned. “Is this some kind of occupation tactic? Are they preparing for war, trying to take over the South while we are weakened from all the chaos?”

Cullen shook his head, resting one hand on the hilt of his sword as he spoke. “I do not believe so. Their forces are much too small for that. It is like they want to stay unnoticed.”

“My agents will uncover more, shortly,” the spymaster assured them.

“Then I suggest we stop here and let Master Lavellan rest from his long journey,” Josephine chimed in. She must’ve seen the exhaustion on Nym’s already-pale face.

He noticed the candle on her documents’ wooden board had melted quite a bit, meaning their meeting had gone on for a couple of hours already.

 “Alright. In the end, I will follow your lead, Herald. You haven’t disappointed us so far. Just….think carefully,” Cullen said and gave Nym a stare that promised his loyalty no matter the decision.

The elf took a deep breath, feeling his lungs squeeze with anguish. _*So in the end, the final decision falls on me? Yes, because that’s not upsetting at all…especially since a bad decision can cost us everything. But no pressure, Nym. You just do whatever you decide is best….as long as you don’t disappoint anyone,*_ his mind rushed with thoughts he was afraid to say out loud. What good would complaining do anyway? Suddenly, he wanted to get out of that room as soon as possible.

The group slowly started to disperse when he remembered one crucial point they never got to discuss. The Val Royeaux Alienage. He was a bit uncertain whether to bring it up in the meeting; it wasn’t really a Breach problem and he wasn’t sure if they would even care, considering all of his advisors were human. Still, he promised hahren Zatvel to help and he had no intention of breaking his word. Yet now, the reality of his promise hit him and left him wavering – did he even have the right to make such a promise? Perhaps all this War Council business had gone to his head and now he thought himself to be ‘important’ in the Inquisition.   

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head firmly, as if to dismiss those thoughts from his mind. No. He wasn’t a prisoner anymore. He needed to find a way to make this happen.

He decided to talk to Leliana first. She always appeared sympathetic towards elves, mages and any other ‘outcasts’ of society. He caught her right before she exited the Chantry, pulling her aside and away from prying eyes.

“Leliana,” he started. “I have…a favor to ask of you.”

The woman raised one elegant eyebrow askingly.

He continued, “The truth is, when I was in Val Royeaux, I visited the elven Alienage. I…have never seen anything like that before. The poverty, the fear…the state of the houses there.” He didn’t even know where to start with his explanation, but the more he talked the more Leliana’s face fell into a saddened state. It wasn’t the expression of someone who was surprised, however, but rather of someone who already knew exactly what Nym was talking about. So he was the only ignorant one, then.

“Yes, I know,” she started in a soft tone. “It is disconcerting in what state the alienages are. The elves are also the children of the Maker, yet they are all but forgotten by the Chantry,” she admitted.

“But…then why didn’t the Devine do something about it,” he had to restrain himself from shouting in anger. “Isn’t that what she’s supposed to do; take care of the masses?”

Leliana sighed, a glint of guilt in her eyes. “It is not that simple, Nym.” She was addressing him informally now that they were outside of the War Room, but he didn’t mind. He preferred it to ‘Herald,’ any day. “The Devine wanted to help the elves and make changes…but there were also a lot of the clerics who opposed such drastic ideas. Malcontents who looked for any opportunity to rise a revolt against her. If she just suddenly gave more political power to the elves, too many would rise up against her. And with the mage rebellion raging on, we hardly needed any more war to envelop the lands.”

Lavellan clicked his tongue in frustration, giving her a knowing glare, “I saw how those elves live. This has been a problem long before the Mage-Templar war started.”

She exhaled again. “I know. And you are right, the alienage elves _should_ be taken care of. I pointed this out to Devine Justinia many times…but it’s not something that can be done so easily. It’s not that simple.” Then she looked back at him with a curious gleam in her eyes. “Then tell me something; do you, a Dalish elf, consider the city elves ‘your People’? Most of the Dalish Clans do not see them as one of you, no?”

A troubled shadow passed over Nym’s gentle features. There was guilt in his eyes as his gaze slid to the side, avoiding her questioning stare. “That’s…quite complicated. We were all one race once…no, we still are. We are all Elvhen, so saying they are not my people doesn’t seem right. I do care about them. Just because I am Dalish, doesn’t mean I don’t care what happens to the city elves. I understand not all Dalish think like that. Perhaps it is the difference how our Keeper taught us or how my mother, the previous Keeper, raised me,” he shrugged, biting his lower lip in thought. “But I understand they aren’t like _us_. The Dalish and the elves in the alienages live different lives, have different ideologies and beliefs. Even the gods we worship are different. But that doesn’t mean I want to just turn my back on them. My heart breaks when I hear about their suffering in the slums. I wish I could make life better for _all_ elves, including them. However, some of my kin have already completely given up on our cousins in the cities,” he sighed sadly.

“But perhaps there is something you can do,” the spymaster gave him a mischievous smile.

He looked at her with hopeful eyes.

“Isn’t that why you approached me, in the first place?” There was a calculating glint in her purplish-blue eyes.

“I…yes! I wanted to find a way to help the people in the Val Royeaux Alienage. I thought, perhaps with the Inquisition’s resources…,” he trailed off. He was aware; even if he helped one alienage, what of all the others across Orlais and Ferelden? The Inquisition was hardly big enough to help all of them…perhaps it would never be powerful enough for that. A part of him felt like it was a losing battle, but standing aside and doing nothing felt even worse. He couldn’t ignore what Zatvel showed him. He couldn’t forget what he heard. He needed to do _something_.

“The Inquisition is still too small to be considered a ‘world power’ capable of shaking the world and its leaders. But it becomes larger every day as our influence spreads. Both Orlais and Ferelden already owe us a few favors,” she smirked. “And when we close the Breach, the world will owe us one more.”

“So if we can bolster our support. Spread our influence,” Nym mulled over her words, his thumb resting on his lower lip in thought.

“Indeed. Think about it, Herald. You are not just working to close the Breach. Your actions might influence all of Thedas.” She gave him that cryptic smile again as she turned to leave. “Play your cards right, and you might help more than just one alienage in Orlais.”

“But what about it now? We must do something for them.”

Leliana turned over her shoulder to look at him. “Do not worry. We have food and clothing to spare. Josie is so good at her job, the nobles keep sending us things we need and don’t need,” she chuckled. “I will have my agents send out supply caches in the alienage. Those elves will neither starve nor freeze this winter, at least. And believe it or not, there are some sympathetic nobles in Orlais and Ferelden that always look for a way to help the elves. They consider it ‘charity work,’ and it makes them feel good about themselves. They will be happy to help after a few meetings with our Ambassador,” the spymaster winked. Josephine could pretty much make anyone agree to anything and she could make it so they think it was _their_ idea to begin with. She could charm a snake out of its skin. She was just _that_ good. 

Nym’s face instantly brightened up and he beamed. “Thank you, Leliana! Thank you so much! I’ll be sure to thank Josephine properly, too!” He couldn’t stop the wide grin spreading across his face.

He watched Leliana leave and wondered how easily she shifted between being a kind, generous woman and the merciless puppetmaster that could probably ruin empires with her secrets. Not to mention, she could easily assassinate anyone in their sleep or simply order their murder. Yet the elf was now sure there was also a different side of her, beneath all that darkness.

At first, it was hard for him to notice, especially after seeing how easily she nearly ordered an assassination on one of her agents who betrayed them. Or perhaps it wasn’t easy for her, but she thought it necessary. The betrayal had cost them a good agent and intel that the rogue agent compromised. She believed it had to be done to protect the Inquisition and the other spies whose position was jeopardized. However, Nym urged her to find another way and together they did – they caught and imprisoned the agent, who was now willing to give them information on the people who wanted to buy the Inquisition’s secrets, to save his own life. It turned out the agent switched sides and was working for a noblewoman who saw the Inquisition as a rising threat. In the end, Leliana managed to ‘persuade’ the spy to become a double agent instead, so it all worked out for the best.

 Still, the more time he spent with the redhead, the clearer it became she wasn’t _all_ ‘Knifey Shivdark,’ as Sera had inadvertently called her.

 He was still grinning happily as he left the Chantry, and when he thought of the hot bath he was dreaming of the entire day, it only made his glee intensify. Unfortunately, his thoughts were soon cut off. As usual, his work was never done.

“Excuse me. I’ve got a message for the Inquisition, but I’ve got a hard time getting anyone to talk to me,” a man called out. A man in heavy armor, Nym had never seen before. The Inquisition was getting bigger by the day, but it was rare for him to be completely oblivious of a recruit. He at least knew everyone in Haven by face, if not name, as they often passed him by during the day or offered to buy him drinks in the tavern during his free hours. He hasn’t even been called ‘knife-ear’ behind his back as much. Although that could also be because Varric declared, if he ever did hear someone call him that, they’d get a bolt from Bianca right in the keister. Yep, ‘keister’ is the exact word he used.

The elf dismissed his thoughts when he saw the man walking over. He was polite and formal in speech, yet he didn’t seem to know who Nym was. No ‘Your worship’ or ‘Herald’ as he spoke to him, much to his relief. So clearly he wasn’t one of the recruits from Haven.

“Ah sorry, everything is always hectic around here,” Nym apologized, then looked the warrior over. He didn’t wear any insignia to identify his faction or rank. “Who are you, soldier?”  

“Cremisius Aclassi, with The Bull’s Chargers mercenary company. We mostly work out of Orlais and Navarra. We got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander, Iron Bull, offers the information free of charge. If you’d like to see what the Bull’s Chargers could do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work.” The soldier named Aclassi relayed the full message in one breath.

“Iron Bull? That’s quite a name…nickname?” Nym folded his arms on his chest and tilted his head to the side in question.

The soldier chuckled. “Both, I guess. He’s one of those Qunari…the big guys with horns?”

Even before Cremisius continued his talk, the elf’s eyes were already sparkling with interest. A Qunari? He only heard about the grey giants in stories, but he never saw one before.

“He leads from the front, he pays well, and he’s a lot smarter than the last bastard I worked for. Best of all, he’s professional. We accept contracts with whoever makes the first real offer,” the human explained.

Nym thought, _*It seems his men respect him, that’s good. You can always tell what kind of leader a man is by how he treats his men, and how they think of him in return.*_

“You’re the first time he’s gone out of his way to pick a side,” Aclassi added. “Iron Bull wants to work with the Inquisition. He thinks you’re doing good work.”

“We try, at least,” Nym shrugged. “And a giant hole in the sky really motivates people to take action,” he added, with a jesting twinkle in his eye. He looked back at the soldier, rubbing his chin in thought. “A mercenary company, huh? Might be good for skirmishes…Alright, we’ll think about it.” He then pointed towards Leliana’s tent, “See that ominous redhead clad in black?” The soldier nodded. “Go to her and tell her what you know of the Tevinters on the Coast, then mark your location on the map so we can find you. Give her all the information and she’ll pass it to my group when we head out.”

“Understood. We’re the best you’ll find. Come to the Storm Coast and see for yourselves. Wait,-” he then blinked as if just realizing something. “ _Your_ group? So you’re _him_ , the Herald of Andraste?” His chestnut-colored eyes went wide. 

The elf took a deep breath, “Yeah…Nymrodel Lavellan, at your service.” And here he hoped he would get away without that awkward exchange. He really didn’t want one more human falling to his knees before him, in the middle of Haven. Luckily, Cremisius did no such thing.

“I’m sorry, Your Worship, I didn’t realize.”

“No, no. That’s quite alright. In all honesty, I never call myself the Herald, either,” he smiled warily. “Now go to Leliana, just tell her I sent you. It seems I have more work to do,” he sighed. So much for that bath.

~……~

They’ve been following the Vints’ movements for a week now. Ever since he got the information from his contact in the Ben-Hassrath, the Iron Bull has been following on the leads, getting closer to those Tevinter bastards. Finally, the Chargers managed to track the Vints down to a remote encampment on the Storm Coast, right by the shore.

The Chargers have been encamped deeper in the forest, away from the scouts’ eyes, waiting for the opportune time to attack. Sitting on the information about the Vints’ whereabouts was the perfect offering to the Inquisition, an upstart organization his Ben-Hassrath leaders ordered him to find out more about. Apparently they were the only ones doing something about the giant demon-festering tear in the sky.

But even as Krem returned from their outpost in Haven, he returned with no definite answer from the people in charge. So Bull decided to wait for a few days, to see if the Inquisition forces would arrive. Unfortunately, they could only wait for so long before they were either discovered by the Tevinters or the men simply pack-up and move on, in which case the Chargers will lose their chance to end them.

“How long are we supposed to wait,” Skinner muttered in a dark tone. She was annoyed by every flora and fauna in the Storm Coast, which didn’t help her usual belligerent attitude. It wasn’t surprising that a city elf wouldn’t enjoy the deep forests and sharp rocks of the Storm Coast. And bears. There were so many Maker-cursed bears. 

“Maybe they’re not coming,” Rocky, the explosive-crazed dwarf, spoke.

It’s been days and there was still no sign of the Inquisition. Bull hummed, trying his best to hide his big frame behind some ferns, as they kept a close watch on the Tevinter camp ahead. They were all hidden in the mud and greenery of the forest, and he could feel the sludge seeping through his trousers.

“Ugh, why is everything so damn wet here,” Krem complained at Bull’s side.

Unlike the rest of them, Bull was used to the rain. He came from a tropical climate of Par Vollen, so a few showers daily was nothing new to him. On the other hand, Krem was trying his best to get comfortable in his completely-wet heavy armor which was starting to squeak awkwardly. That’s one of the reasons Bull never even wore shirts; less trouble when drenched.

While his company discussed their next move silently, the Qunari looked up after hearing a familiar sound. A grin slowly spread across his rough features when he recognized a black messenger raven. Not a Tevinter bird, either, as they mostly used carrier hawks. It circled above a few times and then flew somewhere towards the hill not far behind them. The Chargers were currently camping at the foot of that same hill and he now suspected their camp was seen by the ones who made their place at the top. Bull was also sure they had a nice view of the northern beach from there, including the Vint encampment.

“Change of plans,” he announced. “We attack the Vint encampment today.”

“What? Why the sudden change of plans, aren’t we waiting for the Inquisition,” His Lieutenant asked, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

The grin never left his face as he answered, “I believe they just arrived.”

The others glanced at each other in wonder, but no one questioned Bull’s orders. Maybe he was crazy when it came to battles, but he never led them astray as of yet.

“So what’s the word, Chief,” Rocky asked.

“Rocky, toss a few of those Lyrium Sand grenades in their camp. That will give us enough confusion and cover from the smoke to charge in. Krem, Grim, you’re on the front lines with me.”

“With you, Chief,” His Lieutenant nodded.

Grim responded with only a grunt.

“Skinner, while their eyes are on us, get as many as you can from behind,” their leader continued.

“I will do what I do best. They’ll never see me coming,” the city elf smirked, her eyes already glimmering with excitement.

“Dalish, you keep those barriers on us and give us support with your magic,” Bull looked back at the Dalish mage.

“You know I’m not a mage! That’s a bow,” she explained, rather unconvincingly, as she held a bow-looking staff with a giant crystal on top.

“Right,” everyone sighed, giving her a skeptical glance.

“Stiches, you’re the support. Stay close if anyone needs a potion or pick-me-up during the fight,” Bull turned towards the last man in their group.

“I’ll keep you all on your feet, as always,” the man nodded with a serious expression.

“Alright, Chargers! Let’s kill some Vints!” The large Qunari shouted and stood up from the bushes. His large frame was revealed, his two thick horns pointing up at the sky. He took a giant two-handed axe from his back, enjoying the familiar weight in his hands. “Horns up!”

“Horns up,” his mercenaries exclaimed.

Rocky already had four grandees in his hands, lit and ready, and tossed them towards the Tevinter camp.

The Chargers shouted a war cry as they ran just like their name suggested, led by their intimidating Qunari boss. Then the Iron Bull did what he did best in a fight – he rained down havoc on the Vints.

~…..~

It was wet. That’s the first impression Nymrodel got when he set his almost-bare foot on the grass and stone of the Storm Coast. The rain was showering them mercilessly, and it hasn’t let up for days as far as he could tell. The whole Coast was covered in marsh, ferns and dirt that already became mud from all the water. And towards the beach; a raging sea, with waves crashing loudly on the high pillars of stone that almost looked man-made.     

And now, Nym had traveled to this damp wilderness with Varric, Solas, Cassandra and Blackwall, for a sole purpose – to meet the Bull’s Chargers and see if they are everything the Aclassi soldier promised them to be.   

He turned his head to see a familiar dwarf coming his way from one of the set-up tents of the Inquisition camp. “Scout Harding,” Nym smiled as he greeted the best scout on this side of the Waking Sea.

“Charming place we got to,” Varric muttered, already complaining about wind and the rain. Then again, he complained about nearly everything concerning the outdoors…or the Deep Roads. Or caverns. By this point, it was easier to make a list of places the dwarf actually _liked_.

“It’s good to see you, Your Worship. For what it’s worth, welcome to the Storm Coast. I would’ve sent word sooner, but our efforts have been….delayed,” the dwarven scout gave him a small smile in return, but there was a tense atmosphere around her.

Nym raised one eyebrow, “How so?”

“There’s a group of bandits operating in the area. I came to the Storm Coast with a small scouting party ahead of the ones making camp, and have been here for a few days now…we’ve been having trouble with these bandits, especially since they know the terrain better than us and they outnumber us. I sent some of our soldiers to speak with their leader while I joined the others to make camp here…but I haven’t heard from them since,” she explained, trying to stay professional despite the clear worry in her eyes. “They call themselves The Blades of Hessarian,” she added.

“We will deal with those bandits ourselves, then,” Cassandra glowered.

“We’ll do all we can do find our people, scout Harding,” Nym promised.

“If they are still alive…,” Blackwall muttered next to him, but Nym gave him a warning glace in return. No need to lose hope already.

“Ah, Warden Blackwall,” she greeted him. “Unfortunately, we weren’t able to search for the Wardens either, due to the bandit attacks,” she admitted.

“Just one more thing for us to handle, then,” the Warden shrugged.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Harding exclaimed, as if she just remembered. “I got reports that the Bull’s Chargers just engaged the Tevinter camp. You might want to head to the northern coast, bellow this hill, if you want to catch them in action.”

“So we’ve been here, what, five minutes, and we’re already jumping into a fight? Typical,” Varric sighed. It reminded him of all his hectic times with Hawke.

“Never a dull moment with young master Lavellan,” Solas smirked.

Nym grinned, “I never saw a Qunari before. This will be interesting.” He bid his farewells to scout Harding and headed in the direction she showed them.

The group pushed through the dense foliage, carefully stepping over sharp rocks. Nym only had his sole-covers and although it was quality material, he didn’t want to risk cutting his feet on the harsh terrain. And his two options were mostly mud or sharp rocks.

Finally they stepped out of the bushes, only to reach a cliff. The way down was perilous and steep, but it led right to the northern coast. The view stretched out before them, and Nym could hear the clashing of metal even before he looked down. There on the beach, he could see two groups fighting wildly, with a large horned giant swinging an axe in all directions. The grey giant was smashing the ground hard enough to make his enemies stumble and fall, before he would finish them with a strong swing downwards. And was it just Nym’s imagination, or was he laughing as he fought?

“How do we get down there? It looks steep,” Blackwall murmured. He and Cassandra wore heavy armor, so the dangerous climb down would be even harder for them.

“Perhaps we should find a way around,” Solas suggested.

Nym watched the fight below them and shook his head, “No time.” The guys were holding their own, but the Tevinters outnumbered them. By the time Nym and his company found a way around, the fight would already be over – though the outcome was still uncertain.

Varric sighed again. “No choice but to climb down then. The rocks here are slippery, so watch your-“

He wasn’t able to finish before Nym jumped. He jumped off the cliff like it was nothing. Varric’s face was blank as he saw the elf disappear before him, “-step.”

“Herald,” Cassandra exclaimed in freight and peered down, only to see Lavellan safe and sound, making his way below quickly.

Both the hunters of the Clan and Ronas often told him; _‘You must always be aware of your surroundings. Not just to know where you are, but to predict where you will be with your each step.’_ Nym landed on a rock and then pushed himself off it towards another one below. While in the air, he grabbed a tree root protruding from the rocks, to slow his fall, before landing on the planned spot. His every move was calculated, knowing exactly where his next step should be.

The further he progressed in his descent, the louder were the battle noises coming from the coast. Sliding down the rest of the way before pushing himself off the dirt and jumping forward, the elf landed on the stone shore. He could hear voices above, as his companions climbed down carefully behind him.

Then suddenly he felt a power around him; like small surges of static electricity. He looked up and saw Solas on a nearby rock – of his companions, the other elf was the fastest to move – and realized the mage had cast a barrier on him.

“Go,” the mage mouthed the words and Nym grinned, his blue eyes gleaming in excitement.

In the next moment, the rogue elf was running towards the heart of the battle.

Luckily, it was easy to tell who the enemy was, as they all wore Tevinter armor and robes, the insignia of the Imperium practically plastered on their foreheads. He scanned the battlefield and noticed the soldier who was in Haven, locked shield-to-shield with another heavily armored warrior. Aclassi held a longsword in one hand, pushing against a man with a shield and a one-handed axe.

Nym slid across the area, keeping low so he would stay undetected, and aimed for the man’s back. He snuck up behind his target in a flash, while the soldier was too focused on his own struggle to notice him. The rogue unsheathed his daggers, crouched down and sliced at the back of the man’s legs, wringing out a startled cry from him. The warrior stumbled forward, losing his balance and lowered his shield just enough for the Charger to slash horizontally and decapitate the man in one powerful move. For a second, the Lieutenant blinked in surprise, seeing the small elf behind the man he just killed, but he instantly recognized him as the Herald. The elf just gave him a small nod before he rearranged his blades and ran off.

Cremisius looked beyond the camp to see Inquisition’s group charging towards the battlefield, one elven mage already casting spells behind them. “So they came after all, just like Chief predicted,” the soldier muttered, smirking at the sight.

Nym moved across the camp, analyzing the rest of his enemies with sharp eyes. There were spellbinders among them, clad in robes and unarmored. A few stalkers and archers, but they mostly wore light armor that had various spots where his blades could easily penetrate. There were also a few Brutes – heavily armed and armored Tevinters, with large weapons that could easily crush bones with one good strike. Luckily, they were slow – at least too slow to hit one elven rogue, as long as he didn’t let his guard down.

A flurry of purple energy flew past him and Nym glanced behind him to see Solas raining down his magic onto a group of Tevinter soldiers. Next to him, Varric shot a bolt from Bianca that flew right thought the neck of a charging soldier, then pierced the eye of the Stalker behind him. Cassandra and Blackwall were both locked shield-to-shield with Tevinter soldiers.

Lavellan found his next target – a mage. He decided it would be wise to take out the mages first, in order to cripple Tevinter forces. No mages, meant no healing spells or barriers. Cloaking his presence, he circled around the mage until he was behind him. Fortunately, the man was too involved in the battle before him to notice the rogue sneaking form behind. Not until it was too late and Nym stabbed two daggers into his upper back. The mage’s body trembled as he struggled to take a breath, yet only pained gasps escaped him. He spat something in Tevene, along with some blood, and Nym realized the man was casting a spell.

Not knowing what spell it was or how far it would affect the area, the elf dodged to the only place he felt would be safe – above. He pulled out both of his daggers and jumped as high in the air as he could. His trained body was used to such movement; a feat that might seem unthinkable to someone else. He might not have had the upper hand in strength or one-on-one combat against brutish warriors, but his wiry muscles and flexibility allowed him to be swift and agile beyond normal capabilities.

Just as he jumped, a sudden blast of energy spread from the mage. Even if Nym tried to outrun it, he would be caught in the spell. Jumping up was the right choice. The robed man spun around in confusion, searching for his target, while clutching at his chest in pain. He supported himself on his staff, trying to heal himself quickly. He never got the chance. The mage glanced up when an idea hit him, but by then, it was already too late. Falling down, Nym aimed for the man and his knees dug into the man’s chest. Pushing them both down to the ground, the rogue drove both blades into each side of the Tevinter’s neck, right in the artery. As they both fell to the ground, the elf on top of his opponent, Nym could see the light dying in the man’s violet eyes. His mouth fell open as he wanted to say something - perhaps to cast a final spell or curse at his opponent, but the voice never came out.

Lavellan didn’t even have time to think about the man he just killed. He pulled out his daggers and stood up, jerking the weapons once to discard the blood staining them. His eyes stayed completely focused, the usual gentle blue in them replaced by cold ice. He wasn’t the kindhearted friend or the understanding Herald of Andraste at the moment. No, right now, he needed to be a merciless weapon that cuts down all enemies in his way. 

He scanned the battlefield, looking for his next target, when an enraged cry came from his side. The elf instantly turned his body, his two daggers crossed in front of him for protection. He saw a Tevinter soldier charging towards him, no shield and sword raised high in the air. The poor fool was either too eager or too inexperienced to realize he left himself completely open. Nym sheathed one of his dual daggers and took another dagger from his belt. This one’s blade wasn’t as long as his dual daggers, but it was still capable of piercing armor if the throw was strong enough. He was just about to throw the dagger and make a clean kill, when he noticed flakes of ice appear on the man’s clothes and hands. It started with his feet, but the rest of the body soon followed. Ice covered the charging soldier, stopping him in his attack and turning him into a harmless ice sculpture.

Nym blinked in surprise then looked around. Solas was too busy backing up Cassandra by setting a Stalker on fire, so it wasn’t him. Then he noticed a young elven woman on the other side – Dalish, like himself, judging by the vallaslin. She gave him an amused wink.

He threw his dagger at the icy form. The blade pierced the middle, creating a small crack that slowly spread out like tree branches, in every direction. The ice statue crumbled into large pieces of ice, now stained with blood.

Just as it fell to pieces, Nym saw an interesting scene behind it. A robust Brute warrior, wielding a giant hammer, as he swung it towards an even larger man – a horned beast, who greeted every strike with an equally big axe. Curious, the elf ran towards them, picking up his throwing dagger and sheathing it without stopping in his run.

Another thunderous clash ripped through the air when Bull’s axe met the large hammer. The power behind the Brute’s swing was enough to bury his feet into the ground, but the Qunari stopped each strike of the heavy warhammer without fail. They locked weapons, and the Iron Bull’s muscles strained under the pressure, veins popping out on his bulky arms. Then with a powerful roar, the grey giant pushed the Brute away, swinging with his axe again, much quicker than one would expect from someone of his stature. The Vint stumbled backwards, but only for a second, before he managed to regain his balance. He swung upwards with his weapon, bashing into the incoming axe just as it was about to cut into him, and deterred it off its course. The Brute growled and swung with the hammer from the side, going for Bull’s blind spot on the left.

_*Predictable*,_ Bull thought. They always went for his blind side, sure he wouldn’t notice the attack without his left eye. Unfortunately for his enemy, it was what he always expected them to do.

Instead of trying to jump out of the hammer’s reach and dodge the attack, Bull rushed forward. He crashed into the soldier with his shoulder, before the other one could even finish his attack. He wasn’t as sluggish and slow as his opponents often predicted him to be. As his shoulder met the other’s chest, the other warrior lost balance again, but this time he wasn’t able to regain it.

His heavy armor clattered against the stones as he fell to the ground. The hammer fell to his side, far too heavy to be able to lift it up in time before Bull’s next attack. Bull took a hefty swing and the axe fell down onto the Vint’s head, easily cleaving through his helmet and the contents beneath.

The Qunari let out a breath as if he was just done with a hard-day’s work. He didn’t have time to savor the occasion, as his keen hearing picked up on the rattling of pebbles behind him. Someone was sneaking up from behind. Without turning to look back, the Qunari raised his large axe one more time and spun with it, slashing at whoever approached him so sneakily.

He met eye-to-wide eyes with a shocked Tevinter Stalker who tried to stab him from behind, yet didn’t expect the sudden attack on himself in return. The axe sliced through the man’s torso, ripping it in half. Before the body was even on the ground, a blast of power hit the Qunari warrior from behind. He stumbled and turned back to see a creature of pure white before him, intangible and translucent like air. A spirit. And behind it, a Spellbinder focusing all his attention on the Iron Bull while levitating a large book with one hand.

 “A demon. Wonderful,” the Qunari growled, his one good eye narrowing at the wisp before him.

The transparent creature came at him again. He tried to cut it with his axe, only to see his weapon harmlessly pass through it. It enveloped him like mist, concentrating on his head, and it started entering his mouth and nose. He tried to break free of it, but it was like trying to fight fog. He could feel it sucking the air out of him, suffocating him slowly. The Qunari glared at the spellbinder, knowing his only chance was to kill the one responsible, but the clever mage stayed well out of reach.

Bull was just contemplating whether he should charge at the Tevinter or just throw his axe at him and be done with it, when he noticed a quick shadow pass behind the man. It reappeared in the air behind the mage, and it took Bull a second to realize it was a person. Two big sharp eyes reflected the icy coldness of the rogue, gleaming in a crystal blue color. A lithe elf, holding a blade in each hand, twisted his body in the air to gain momentum, and slashed with both weapons towards the mage’s neck. The sharp steel went through with little resistance, separating the head from the body.

Unlike the Stalker who made himself known to Bull and died for it, this rogue made no mistake. The spellbinder was none the wiser until the end. He died without knowing what hit him. As soon as its master was dead, the wisp attacking Bull’s lungs disappeared as well.

The elf landed on his feet with grace, sheathing his two dual daggers behind his back and looking up at Bull with the same inquisitive expression he often noticed on the Southerners when they saw a real Qunari for the first time. There wasn’t fear or disgust, he noted, as it was sometimes the case. Only wonder.

The giant glanced around the battlefield, noticing the fight was slowly dying out. With the additional support from the Inquisition forces, the Chargers made quick work of the Vints. Not that his guys couldn’t take care of it by themselves, of course. Seeing that the danger has passed, the Qunari looked back at the approaching elf. He was one of those Dalish elves, like the Chargers’ mage; he could tell by those strange tattoos on his face, although his were different than hers. In all honestly, he looked like the last person the humans would venerate as ‘The Herald of Andraste.’ _*I thought he’d be…bigger,*_ was Bull’s next thought. He heard stories of the man commanding a growing army and battling demons, but the one before him was a slender elf, rather wispy in appearance. He had gentle features, pale skin and even his hair was as white as snow. He looked like Bull could snap him like a twig. Plus, he appeared to be much younger than the Qunari expected. _*Well, that just goes for show how assuming makes an ass out of a man,*_ Bull shrugged.  

On the other hand, Nym’s impression of the brawny Qunari was complete opposite. He gulped as he walked towards the large man, his eyes sparkling with curiosity at this race he never saw before. He only heard about them through stories and rare books that were usually biased, but the Dalish hardly had any contact with them. Unlike their city cousins, they had no desire or reason to convert to the Qun in search of a better life. The rogue’s eyes were trained on the Qunari, but although he remained careful, all coldness and bloodlust was gone from him now. It was as if the person he was during the battle had completely disappeared, replaced by his usual laid-back demeanor.

Bull met him half-way, “So you’re with the Inquisition. The one they call the Herald of Andraste, judging by that glowing fade-shit on your hand,” he jerked his pointed chin towards Nym’s gloved hand.

“Nymrodel Lavellan,” the elf introduced himself. “And you must be the Iron Bull,” he concluded, although it was rather evident.

The Qunari laughed, “Yeah, the horns usually give it away.”  He gestured at a couple of crates left in the Tevinter camp, “Come on, have a seat.” Then he turned towards one of his men. “Krem! Give me a status report,” he exclaimed loudly just as he sat down.

Nym sat on a piece of an old fallen tree trunk, near the other. He saw the Chargers’ Lieutenant walk over to them. It was the same man he met at Haven.

“I assume you remember Cremisium Aclassi, my Lieutenant,” Bull introduced them.

“Good to see you again,” the soldier nodded in greeting.

“You did fine work out there,” Nym praised him. They had good form and discipline on the battlefield, as far as he could tell. Though he suspected Cassandra or Cullen could analyze them as soldiers more accurately than he ever could.

“It wasn’t half bad with your side helping, Your Worship,” Krem responded before turning to his leader. “We have five or six wounded, Chief, but no dead. Throatcutters are done too.”

Bull furrowed his dark eyebrows. “Already? Have ‘em check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem,” he chuckled.

The Lieutenant simply shrugged, “None taken. Least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?” The soldier smirked, walking away to give new orders to his men.

The Qunari grinned, no offense taken despite the backtalk he just received. Nym noted that. Some leaders would take offense or flog their men for talking back to them disrespectfully, but the Iron Bull clearly wasn’t that type. The elf liked that.

“And break up the casks! We deserve a few drinks after a good fight,” Bull called out to his Lieutenant.

Not far away, Krem shouted back skeptically, “A _few_?” Obviously the Iron Bull alone drank more than that.

Nym heard Blackwall laugh, “Good man!” He must have been pleased about the promised drinks.

The Inquisition group was helping the company’s healer treat the injured. Solas and their mage used simple healing spells and Varric was handing out health potions.

Cassandra walked over to them to join the conversation, but insisted on standing, almost like she wanted to remain imposing.

“Ah, this is Cassandra Pentaghast; one of the people responsible for founding the Inquisition,” Nym introduced her.

“A….pleasure,” the warrior woman didn’t look as pleased as she sounded. She was eyeing Bull skeptically. She even scrunched up her nose as she usually did when displeased.

If the Qunari noticed the mistrust in her eyes, he ignored it. He was ready to talk business. “So…you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it…and I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us,” he smirked.

The elf eyed him carefully, like he was about to haggle with a sly merchant, “How much is this going to cost me exactly?”

Bull raised his left hand, where several of his finger joints were missing. “It wouldn’t cost you anything personally…unless you want to buy drinks later.”

“We can have Josephine make the arrangements for the payment,” Cassandra suggested, adding to the conversation.

“That’s right. We can work out the details with your ambassador later,” Bull nodded. “Gold will take care of itself, don’t worry about that. All that matters is we’re worth it,” he chuckled.

Lavellan mulled over it, watching the Chargers work. They managed to find some axes and were now breaking the ale casks with them. Blackwall was right there by their side, helping eagerly. “The Chargers do seem like an excellent company,” he admitted.

“What I am worried about is their discipline,” Cassandra interjected with a warning. “These are not professional soldiers, Nym. They are mercenaries.”

Bull sighed, although it sounded more like a grunt. “True. But we are _professional_ mercenaries. We have rules; a Code of Conduct. We accept surrenders for ransom from mercenaries, nobles and soldiers wearing their Lord’s colors. Our prisoners are treated well, their injuries tended. I don’t want the Company to be too large, we’re not an army, but we’re perfect as shock troops or for skirmishes. We’ve gone up against everything from bandits to magic trees. My guys have experience, grit, and we’re the best damn Company you’ll find from here to Anderfels,” Bull explained. The words sounded boasting, but the way he spoke with such confidence, it was hard to argue with him. “Besides…you’re not just getting the boys; you’re getting _me_. You need a frontline bodyguard, I’m your man. Whatever it is – demons, dragons? The bigger the better.” His eye gleamed with excitement for a good fight as he talked.

Cassandra and Nymrodel exchanged silent looks, having a mental conversation with each other. The Seeker’s gaze clearly suggested she was still unconvinced, but would follow his lead. The elf’s look was screaming _‘excited by the prospect of fighting along a Qunari almost as big as a golem, please please please can we keep the Chargers!?’_

The woman sighed, giving a small nod, and Nym grinned as he caught the subtle gesture. “Alright, you’re hired! Besides, it’s like Varric always says; ‘The more the merrier’,” he shrugged.

“I suppose we can always use more help, _if_ you truly are as good as you say,” the Seeker said. The dubious expression never left her features, however.

“Good,” the Iron Bull grinned, standing up from his seat. The elf did the same, following after him. “There’s one other thing. Might be useful, might piss you off.” He glanced between Cassandra and Nymrodel carefully, with his one good eye. “Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?”

Nym titled his head to the side in question, “No?”

“They are the Qunari Secret Police. They keep the order among people…by _spying_ on them,” Cassandra spat out, narrowing her eyes at the large man.

“Something like that. It’s a Qunari order. They handle information, loyalty, security, all of it. Just like your friend here said – spies, basically.”

“ _They_ ,” the Seeker asked, knowingly. Her experience with interrogations already told her where this was going.

The Qunari sighed, “Well, _we’re_ spies. Yes, I’m one of them.”

The warrior clicked her tongue in annoyance, “I knew you cannot be trusted. A Qunari spy!”

“The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere,” he explained. “I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge and send reports on what’s happening,” he admitted.

“He even admits it so openly. Nym, this is ridiculous. We cannot let a spy into our midst. Let us go,” Cassandra protested.

Bull only continued, not trying to argue with her, “But I also _get_ reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.”

Nym chewed on his lower lip in thought, staring up at the large Qunari who patiently waited for his answer. He frowned in confusion, “So you’re a spy and you just…told us? Are you even allowed to do that?”

Bull chuckled, “It’s not conventional, no. But whatever happened at that Conclave thing, it’s bad. Someone needs to get that Breach closed. So whatever I am, I’m on _your_ side.”

“You still could’ve hidden what you are,” the rogue argued.

Bull just laughed, “From something called ‘The Inquisition’? I’d would’ve been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it right up front from me,” he turned back to smile at Cassandra.

The woman frowned, “Well that’s…direct of you, at least. What I want to know is what would you send home in those reports of yours? It better be nothing vital for the Inquisition.”

The Iron Bull shook his head. “Enough to keep my superiors happy, but nothing that’ll compromise your operations. The Qunari want to know if they need to launch an invasion to stop the whole damned world from falling apart. You let me send word of what you’re doing and it’ll put some minds at ease. That’s good for everyone.”

“I can agree with that…a Qunari invasion is the last thing we need right now,” Cassandra commented darkly.

“And don’t forget, you’d be getting Ben-Hassrath reports, too. Enemy movements, suspicious activates, intriguing gossip…it’s a bit of everything. Alone, they’re not worth much, but if your spymaster is worth a damn, she’ll put them to good use,” the giant added.

“Oh, Leliana’s good- Wait… _she_ ,” Nym asked, raising his eyebrow in surprise.

The Iron Bull chuckled, “I admit, I did a little research. Plus, I always had a weakness for redheads,” he grinned.

Cassandra made a displeased sound behind Nym’s shoulder. She wasn’t thrilled that this Qunari already had more information about the Inquisition than a regular mercenary should. The Ben-Hassrath agents must be as good as the rumors say. Who knows what else the man was keeping from them.

Lavellan glanced at her, then back at Bull, before he sighed. “Well this is…unconventional, but so is the giant tear in the Veil. If you can help us, I would be a fool not to take the offer.”

Bull opened his mouth to say something, but the elf interrupted him. “ _But_ -,” he started. His laid-back attitude was gone now, replaced by a much serious expression. “You must run your reports past Leliana before sending them and you send _nothing_ she doesn’t approve. If this turns out to be a ploy of the Qunari or if your reports compromise the Inquisition, Cassandra here will eat you alive,” he pointed over his shoulder at the warrior woman, and the Seeker snarled at the Qunari to prove his point.

Surprisingly, Bull didn’t take offense at the warning. He nodded, still sporting the same patient look as before. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Lavellan let out a breath, as if relieved. The negotiations were finally over. Instantly, his expression softened again and he gave Bull a genuine smile, “Good. In that case, welcome aboard, I guess.”

He reach out with his hand and the Qunari took it. They shook hands, the small elf trying not to wince under the strong grip of the other.

Then Bull turned to his boys again, “Krem, tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired!”

Behind him, Nym could hear Krem groan in response, “But Chief, we just opened the casks up! With axes!”

“Find some way to seal ‘em. You’re Tevinter, right? Try blood magic,” the Iron Bull poked fun at him.

There were about twelve Chargers, not counting their giant leader. The Inquisition group watched the men pack up, getting ready to leave.

Cassandra spoke to Nym, “We should all go back together to the main camp, up the hill. And I will not let this Iron Bull out of my sight. We should be careful around him.”

The elf gave her a weary smile, “You really don’t trust anyone when you first meet them, do you? Is that a Seeker thing?” He knew she wasn’t entirely without cause, but it was fun to tease her sometimes. As long as it wasn’t _too much_ , unless he had a death wish.   

“I’m just being careful,” the woman frowned.

~…..~

The Inquisition camp suddenly became much more crowded with the additional thirteen men arriving. Not to mention, one of them stood out like a sore thumb, his horns protruding amongst the crowd. The Inquisition soldiers couldn’t stop staring at the large horns. Then again, Harding and Nym couldn’t either.

“I wonder what they feel like,” the dwarven scout commented as she stood next to the Herald in awe of them.

“I bet it’s something like ironbark,” Nym answered.

“I bet they’re _really_ hard. And he’s _so_ tall. Like a mountain! Hey, I have an idea! If I could climb on top of his shoulders, it’d be great for scouting. I could scout from high ground _all the time_ and I wouldn’t have to climb trees. Dwarves aren’t meant for climbing trees,” Harding suggested, all excited by her plan, although not so much at the prospect of heights.

The elf chuckled, “You can always ask him. He _might_ say yes.” By what Nym could tell so far, the Iron Bull was nothing like he imagined a Qunari would be. He heard stories about how stoic and tense they were. How it was impossible to tell what they’re thinking. But Bull seemed like an exact opposite; rather open and easy to talk to. He made jokes with his men, laughed loudly and always gave his honest opinion when asked. No cryptic riddles or vague, stoic answers.

“If you two are quite finished.” They both turned around to see Cassandra behind them, looking rather exasperated.

“Right! I should get back to work,” Harding admitted. “I did mark on the map a few more campsite locations on the Storm Coast. It’s getting pretty crowded here, we need to move some of these people.”

“I agree. I’m starting to worry I’ll get stepped on,” Varric muttered, though it was unclear whether he was joking or not. He really did look unsettled.

“Aright, time to make a game plan!” Lavellan clapped his hands and felt a strange tingle in his marked palm. He was back to his serious, _professional_ , self.

Everyone gathered around him, including the Iron Bull, as Nym loomed over a map of the Storm Coast that Harding procured for him. He started giving out orders. “Scout Harding, you take a group of your scouts and a few of Bull’s Chargers and make a West camp here,” he pointed at one of the marked places on the map. “Bull, can you send a few other Chargers to the South, to rise the other camp, here?”

The Qunari nodded before turning to his men, “Dalish, Skinner; take a few more lightly armored guys to scout with you and head South.” He pointed at another marked place of the Storm Coast map.

“Sure thing,” Dalish smiled. “We’ll take Skinner’s flanking group.”

“They are not _my_ group,” the other elf bit back, in a heavy Orlesian accent.

“Blackwall, you go with Lieutenant Aclassi and the rest of the Chargers’ soldiers, and look for any Grey Warden signs Harding warned us about,” Nym continued. “Take a small group, no more than seven, including you two. The remaining Chargers can stay here with some of our soldiers to watch this camp.”

“I’ll provide you with a good tracker,” the dwarven scout added to Warden Blackwall.

“Much appreciated, miss,” he smiled.

“Everyone, be careful out there. There are bandits roaming the Storm Coast and they are dangerous. These Blades of Hessarian clearly mean to give us trouble,” Lavellan warned everyone in a humorless tone.

“What about us,” Varric asked.

Nym gazed over the crowd, “Varric, Cassandra, Solas and Iron Bull; you’re with me.” He narrowed his eyes, “We’re going to look for our missing soldiers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoot, recruiting the Iron Bull! :D  
> Thank you all for reading!


	8. Blades of Hessarian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope I proofread this right and there aren't any mistakes. :')  
> Enjoy the next chapter (I'm so glad the Chargers finally joined)! ^^

Nym’s hands balled into fists by his side until his knuckles turned white. With gritted teeth he gazed over the carnage before him.

They finally tracked down the missing Inquisition soldiers to an abandoned cottage on the cliffs. But by the time they came, it was already too late. There was nothing but dead bodies lying in their own blood on the ground, telling of the slaughter that happened there recently.

“Shit.” It was the only word Varric found could describe what was before their eyes.

“They killed all of them without mercy….Those bandits will pay for this,” Cassandra exclaimed, radiating anger.

“We should investigate the site. We could find something useful; maybe some information about the Blades of Hessarian or their location,” Bull suggested.

Nym took a deep breath, trying to calm the rage building inside of him. “Yeah,” he managed to agree thought his clenched jaw.

He walked inside the shack, careful not to step on the bodies or the blood spilled around them. The elf crouched next to one of the corpses, examining numerous incisions on it. He could also see rope burns on their wrists. “They were bound and tortured,” he concluded, his tone darker than usual.

“I found something,” Solas called out and Nym heard the rustling of paper behind him. He turned to see the mage holding a piece of paper. “A message from one of the Blades,” he explained. “Something about an item called the Mercy’s Crest.” He handed the note to the other elf.

Nym’s eyes darted across the paper, as he quickly read the message one of the bandits must have left to another. “We are the sword, not the hand that wields it,” he read out loud, his eyebrows furrowing in curiosity. A few passages down, he read another interesting line, “If they’re worthy, let them come with the Mercy’s Crest. The Blades of Hessarian will listen.” Further below, he saw diagrams and notes on the item, “There are even instructions on how to make it. It’s some kind of necklace.”

“We could ask Harding about that. Maybe fill out a requisition so they craft it for us,” Varric suggested.

“The way it sounds from the letter, maybe that item is a way to open negotiations with the Blades,” the Iron Bull guessed.

“Negotiations!? Why should we negotiate with brutal murderers? They are criminals, I say we must root them out,” Cassandra all but yelled in frustration.

Nym snarled, “I also find it hard to believe we will find any common ground with the people who did this to our soldiers.” Like Cassandra, he felt they needed to get some justice for these poor souls.

The mage sighed, “We can always make the necklace just in case. Besides, we need to go back to camp anyway…to tell Scout Harding about what we found. She’ll need to write to their families…,” he trailed off, not needing to finish the thought. They all knew Harding had one of the most difficult jobs ahead of her – tell a family their loved one died on duty.

Nym shuddered at the thought, hoping he won’t need to do the same one day. But with the growing forces he was commanding as ‘The Herald,’ chances of that were rising every day. His eyes softened as he nodded, “Let’s go back. We’ll send more soldiers here to pick up the bodies….give these men a proper burial.” He could still feel the anger in the pit of his stomach, but there was also guilt and frustration, for not being able to do anything for these soldiers. For not being fast enough when coming to their rescue. Nym’s face twisted with hurt. _*This is such a waste of life…why was this necessary? They didn’t need to kill them, just to make some statement!*_

A hand on his shoulder almost made him jump, breaking him from his dark thoughts. Solas gave him a comforting gaze, as if he knew what was troubling him. He could probably see the frustration on his face. Nym was never very good at hiding his emotions.

“Come on,” the mage called out softly.

Behind him, Cassandra was still fuming. She met Nym’s eyes, but only for a second before she averted them to the ground with a frown. She was probably feeling the same guilt as him.

Nym closed his eyes and muttered a soft prayer for the departed. He didn’t know what these men believed in, so the best he could do is pray to his own gods for them. He prayed to Falon'Din to guide their souls safely into the Beyond. He asked Elgar’nan to help him exact vengeance for these soldiers and he prayed to Mythal to deliver justice on their behalf.

“Kid,” Bull called out to the rogue elf, and Nym turned his head. He didn’t appreciate the moniker, though he hardly had the will to argue about it now. The Qunari continued, “These soldiers couldn’t be saved, but they can still be avenged. What you need to do now is find that Hessarian camp and show them what happens when you mess with the Inquisition.” His one stormy eye was trained on the elf, a hard gaze in it.

Surprisingly, the harsh pep-talk helped. Lavellan’s gaze hardened as well, his clear blue eyes gleaming with fire inside of them. Bull was right. He could still do _something_. He could make sure those bandits don’t hurt anyone ever again - negotiations or not. He nodded back to the Qunari without a word, then headed out of the ruined cottage.

~……~

Lavellan’s party walked through the forest, certainty in every step they made. Their armor rattled as they trudged, but they paid no heed to the noise. Their weapons remained sheathed, but there was a sharp light in their eyes; one that suggested they would cut down anyone standing in their way.

It wasn’t long before high walls made of lumber appeared before them. The base of the bandits was a large camp, walled in from all sides, and protected by mountains from behind. There was only one way in; through the front gates. The entrance was guarded by two Hessarian guards – a man and a woman in light armor. Both of them revealed their weapons when they saw the group approach.

“Halt! Who goes there,” the woman guard called out.

“We are agents of the Inquisition! We have come to stop the Blades of Hessarian from hurting any more of our soldiers…and for the justice of our fallen comrades,” Cassandra answered, her voice strong and steady.

 Nym didn’t know what would happen, so he was ready for anything. After they returned to their camp and rejoined Scout Harding there, the elf told her everything that happened. She was far from pleased of course, but the woman put on a professional face and continued with her own report like a true soldier. She didn’t falter in her duty, even for a second. Nym felt he could really learn from her example; it made him want to do better, as well. They managed to procure the strange serpentstone necklace, although he still had no idea how it would help them.

The guards before them glanced at each other. Then the woman spoke up again, “Only if you have Mercy’s Crest can we allow you to go in freely and challenge our leader for his rightful place! Otherwise, you die here and now!”

The Qunari hummed, “Interesting. This necklace is some kind of symbol. Gives you a chance to challenge the leader directly. One-on-one combat for the right to take over this place? I say go for it.” He was grinning, his grey eye glinting in excitement.

“So much for _negotiations,_ ” Varric muttered. “I should’ve known that it would end up in blood. It always does,” he sighed.

“I suspect these terms _are_ their negotiations,” Solas pointed out.

Nym fiddled with his armor for a while, then slid out a necklace from his coat pocket. He presented it to the guards and the two instantly bowed their heads to it.

“That is indeed Mercy’s Crest,” the male guard spoke for the first time.

“And you are allowed to challenge our leader with it,” the woman added.

They both moved to the side, granting Nym’s group access into the bandits’ camp. The Inquisition agents exchanged quick glances, the rogue warning everyone to stay on their guard with a single look. Then they proceeded inside.

The Hessarian stronghold was much bigger than Nym expected, with a few dozen bandits inside. All of them watched the group carefully, weapons at the ready. A loud snarl made him spin around, and the elf saw Mabari dogs imprisoned in iron cages. They were showing rows of razor-sharp teeth, chewing at the bars nervously. They seemed more like feral beasts than actual war dogs the Fereldens often used.

Far at the end of the road, a tall, muscular man sat on a make-shift throne. The leader. Nym instantly glared at him, stopping before the man who obviously tried too hard to appear important in front of the Inquisition.

“So you are the one they call the Herald of Andraste,” the man asked, trying his best to look down on the small elf from his position.

“I am,” was Nym’s curt answer. “And I hear I can challenge you to a duel, with this,” he presented the necklace still in his hand.

“Do you even know what the Blades of Hessarian are, boy!?” The man spat the last word, trying to glare Nym to the ground. “They are weapons to be wielded. Our true purpose is to serve Andraste, our savior, our only judge and jury!”

Even though the man spoke so highly of Andraste, his words sounded hollow. As if he didn’t really believe them. Nym guessed this man was only interested in ruling over the Blades. There was no otherworldly goal or purpose behind it, only greed.

The leader continued, “You - a lowly knife-ear at that - calling himself the Herald of our most holy prophet, is blatant heresy! I will not stand for it. That is why I ordered the Blades to kill your soldiers! Because they were the soldiers of _your_ heretical order!” The man stood up, clutching a heavy hatchet in his hand. It was covered in ornamental carvings and glimmered with sharpness.

Nym was barely listening to him now. His eyes narrowed as he glared daggers at the man. The words kept repeating in his mind; _He_ ordered the Inquisition soldiers to be killed. It was this man standing right before him. The elf slowly unsheathed the dual daggers behind his back.

“Finally, the good part is starting. I was getting tired from all the talking,” Bull snarled.

Cassandra didn’t look as pleased, “Nym, are you sure about this? He’s…a pretty big warrior.”  The dangerous difference in stature between the lithe elf and the tall leader was quite obvious.

The Hessarian leader was about two heads taller than he was. Brawnier too. But what Nym lacked in pure strength, he made up in speed. The leader had thick canine armor on him, but there were some uncovered places his blades could hit. Plus, he had no shield and only one weapon. He could do this. The elf took a deep breath. He _had_ to do this.

All eyes were on them now, as the leader strode his way over to the elf, towering over him to try and intimidate him. “Do you know who I am, _boy_ ,” he sneered down at him.

“Doesn’t matter,” he answered calmly.

“What?”

The elf explained nonchalantly, “It doesn’t matter who you are. You’ll be dead in a moment, anyway.” He made the first move and slashed at the human from both sides with his two blades, aiming for his neck. The leader leaned back and raised his hatchet, blocking both daggers simultaneously. He stomped hard at the elf’s stomach with his boot.

Nym could see the kick coming his way and managed to dodge the brunt of the attack by jumping backwards. Some of it still hit and he felt sharp pain spread through his stomach, but he ignored it as he did a back-roll and quickly got back on his feet in one flowing move. As soon as he was up, he threw a knife at the man, but the warrior deflected it with his weapon and charged at him. He was faster than Nym expected him to be.

The noise around the two duelists intensified. The Blades of Hessarian were all bashing the hilts of their weapons against their armor wordlessly. The noise spread like a murmur, rising louder and louder. The elf could see his own group in the corner of his eye. They were standing at the sidelines, watching him intently. They were counting on him and he had no intention of letting them down.

He repositioned the daggers in his hands and waited for the human to come closer. Before he had time to finish his charge, Nym lunged forward. He slid low when he reached the man and then spun around, slashing with his daggers. One sliced at the front of the leader’s stomach, while the other slashed at his lower back. The human instantly spun around in shock, rather on instinct than any calculated move.

The spin still took Nym by surprise and the man managed to hit him with the butt of his hatchet in the side of his forehead. The elf fell to the ground, but rolled away and hastily got to his feet. He stumbled a bit, still woozy from the sudden blow. He felt warm blood trickle from his forehead and slide down his cheek, but he had no time to worry how bad the wound was.

Meanwhile, the leader turned his gaze down, worried and confused. He was sure there would be guts spilling from his stomach by now, but there wasn’t any pain.

Nym also looked and clicked his tongue in disappointment. The warrior had thick leather armor on both his front and back. The leather was now torn, but it stopped his blades from slicing through to the flesh.

The warrior snarled in anger, which turned into a raged battle cry when he charged at the elf again. This time he was careful not to be taken by surprise and raised his hatchet to deliver the blow.

The rogue blocked it, then deflected another one with his other dagger. The hits were raining down on him from all sides, so quick he had no time to counterattack in-between them. He managed to parry one attack, using the time to slash at the man’s wrist with his other dagger, hoping it would loosen his hold on the weapon. Unfortunately, the human wore thick gloves all the way to his elbows, keeping his arms protected. The blade cut into the glove and tore it, but once again, it barely nicked the skin underneath.

Nym gritted his teeth in frustration. He either needed to get a hit on the neck or face, where there was no armor, which was hard considering how well the leader kept his guard up. Or he needed to slice at the same spot multiple times, but that was too risky. The human would catch on and it would be like telling him what area he’ll strike next, making it easy to counterattack. Besides, if the blade got stuck in the torn fabric, it could cost Nym either his weapon or his head. 

Right after his parry, the human swung with his hatchet horizontally, aiming to slice his neck. He jumped backwards, seeing the gleam of metal pass right before his eyes. He frantically searched for a solution while he continued to block the leader’s wild attacks. He was on the defensive now and the warrior was slowly pushing him back with every hard blow. The elf noticed a wall behind him and realized it won’t be long before he’s backed up against it. He was just planning to change course, knowing it would be a risky, but inevitable move the warrior would be prepared for, when another idea hit him.

Instead of jumping to the side, he kept pulling back, letting the human lead him into the wall. It won’t be long now.

On the sidelines, Nym’s group was practically biting their fingernails with all the tension. “What is he doing?! If he gets backed up against that wall, he’s as good as dead,” Bull growled.

“I’m sure he has a plan…probably,” Varric gulped.

Nym blocked another strike and took another step back. The heel of his back foot was raised in his stance, and as soon as it hit the wall, Nym knew what he had to do. * _It’s now or never,*_ the thought flashed through his mind as he jumped back against the wall.

He jumped with both feet against the wall and used it as leverage to leap off it and towards the leader, with both daggers crossed in front of him. The warrior was already in the middle of his attack and couldn’t stop to change course. Nym blocked the hatchet with his crossed daggers and turned his shoulder to the man’s chest, using all of his weight and momentum to crash into him. As expected, the human lost balance and fell onto his back, with the elf now on top of him.

Nym was straddling him, his two daggers crossed like scissors against the hatchet in-between, pushing down towards the man’s head. The other was in a disadvantage and had to hold onto his weapon with both hands just to keep the elf’s weight from pressing down on him completely and finishing him off.

The Hessarian leader gritted his teeth, his shoulders and hands trembling while Nym continued to press his crossed daggers down towards his neck. Even if the man managed to halt his demise, he won’t last long at this rate. If he tried to use his other hand to struggle free or hit the elf, his one hand wouldn’t be enough to hold the rogue off and Nym would cut him down.

Lavellan continued to apply pressure with all his might, gritting his teeth. He knew he was as light as a feather compared to this man, and the warriors could usually toss him around like a rag doll, but in this position, even he could use his bodyweight as an advantage. He used all his strength, until the muscles in his arms burned. He wasn’t only applying pressure downwards, towards the human’s neck, but also at the hatchet itself. His two daggers held the blade in a vicious grip, cutting into the metal.

“Those soldiers came to you in peace…just to negotiate in the name of the Inquisition,” he spoke up, his blue eyes blazing in anger. He applied more pressure with his weapons. Only a tiny nick appeared, but the sharp edges of his blades started cutting into the man’s weapon.

He used even more strength, ignoring the pain in his muscles. In response, the leader’s arms trembled even more with strain. “They came to you in good faith,” he continued. A crack appeared on the blade of the hatchet. “And you slaughtered them all!” With an angry shout, he applied one final push with his daggers and his weapons cut through the hatchet.

The leader’s weapon broke before his fearful eyes, the last line of his defense gone. The dual daggers in Nym’s hands continued on their path and the elf sliced at the man’s exposed neck, deep enough to deliver a clean death – it was more than what the man gave the Inquisition soldiers.

The elf looked up at the stormy sky, breathing hard. His arms felt numb and his hands, that were clutching his daggers so strongly, were nicked and bleeding from where the hilts dug into his skin. He wasn’t sure if the wound on the side of his forehead stopped bleeding or not. But none of that mattered, because he succeeded. He was alive and his soldiers were avenged. And he managed to stop the Blades of Hessarian with minimal casualties on both sides. He took some solace in that, at least.

The bashing of hilts against armor was deafening now and it made the Inquisition group unnerved, as they couldn’t tell if it was a battle cry or a show of respect. Suddenly, everything around them went silent as each bandit stopped wordlessly.

A man among them shouted, “It has been done! The leader is defeated, all hail the new leader!”

“All hail the new leader,” all the Blades shouted unanimously.

Nym slowly rose to his feet, sheathing his blood-stained daggers. He’d have to clean them later; they were a mess after a day’s worth of fighting across the Coast.

“You did it, Snow!” Varric jogged up to him with a wide smile, congratulating him on his victory. “I had to admit, there were a few close calls where you got me worried. But it was a duel for the books. You _gotta_ let me use some of this as material for my next issue.”

“I was not worried,” Cassandra cleared her throat.

“Yeah, right. You were clutching your sword so hard, I thought you’ll jump in any second, Seeker,” the dwarf snorted.

Nym chuckled, “Good thing you didn’t. I don’t think the Blades of Hessarian would appreciate such breaking of the rules.” His hands were still shaking and he could feel exhaustion hit him now that the adrenaline was slowly leaving his body.

A strong pat on the back nearly made him flop to the ground. It was more of a hard slap on his narrow shoulders. He stumbled ungraciously and looked back to see the Iron Bull grinning at him, “Nice work, kid. That was some quick thinking there.”

Nym grimaced at the word ‘kid’ again, but he was far too tired and relieved to truly care.

“Whatever the case, it seems you won the cult’s loyalty,” Solas added with a smile. He was also pleased that no further bloodshed was necessary.

 “Good. Because I don’t think I’ll be able to move my arms for a while,” Nym gave them all a drained smile.

The Iron Bull laughed heartily at his response, while the others gave him a relieved smile. Even Cassandra looked like her worries were washed away for the time being.

Their moment was interrupted when the man from before came to join them. “Herald of Andraste,” he called out and bowed his head to Nymrodel. The elf had to hide another grimace. He still struggled with that title, still didn’t feel comfortable being called that. Not that anyone gave him a choice about it, apparently. “We are now yours to serve. If you want eyes on the Coast, here we are.”

“So the Blades are loyal to the Inquisition now,” Nym asked. It felt strange to him, since they were attacking Inquisition soldiers on sight not long ago.

“We are loyal to _you_ ,” the man corrected him. After a small pause, he shrugged, “I suppose that’s the same thing.”

“And you have no problem with me killing your previous boss,” the elf rogue raised an eyebrow in skepticism.

“I too find that hard to believe,” Cassandra interjected. “We certainly didn’t forget what you did to _our_ soldiers.” There was still some bitterness left in her tone, even if justice was served with the leader’s death. It would take some time for her to let go of the anger, and Nym could relate.

“The man was a bastard,” the Hessarian bluntly stated. By the indifference towards their leader’s death, Nym could tell the other Blades thought the same. “You’re not the first to stand up to him. You’re just the first to win. And we’re happy with that,” he explained. “Besides, I would rather swear my life to the Herald of Andraste.”

Great. That title was _spreading_ now. Nym had the sudden urge to throw himself in the Waking Sea from the highest cliff while shouting ‘I’m not your damned Herald’ at the top of his lungs. He decided to keep that image to himself.

“In that case, I’m sure we can find a place for you in the Inquisition. I’ll forward you new orders in a few days,” he said as calmly as he could. He placed a right fist over his heart; the formal greeting of the Inquisition that Cullen taught him, and the man mirrored his movements.

“We will keep close watch on the Storm Coast until then, Your Worship,” the man bowed his head.

~…..~

As they left the Hessarian stronghold, Nym and his company made their way back to the nearest Inquisition camp. Solas healed his forehead wound, which fortunately wasn’t too deep. After using his magic, not even a scar was left.

 They slowly walked downhill towards the coast, just as the rain started up again. The wind picked up too and they could smell the sea air again as they drew closer.

That’s when they heard a roar that pierced their ears and made their blood freeze in their veins.

“Don’t tell me-,” Bull was the first to react.

The rest looked at him and Nym noticed an excited expression he’d never expect from a Qunari. Bull was practically beaming, his face lighting up like a child when given a present.

“I know that sound…That’s a dragon! I’d bet my life on it,” the Qunari exclaimed.

“And not just a dragon,” Varric added as they finally reached the edge of the forest, with the shore in view. Close enough to see a scene that made even Cassandra gape.

“Extraordinary,” Solas whispered.

There, in front of their eyes, they were witnessing a battle of epic proportions. A giant was battling a dragon. Nymrodel couldn’t believe his eyes. He was sure his clanmates wouldn’t believe him if he told them about this. This was something right out of one of Varric’s books.

“Doesn’t it make your blood boil?! Man, I just want to jump in there and start battling _both_ of them! Just think how awesome that would be,” Bull was burning with desire to charge into that deadly fray. It would probably be the last thing he ever did.

“Do that only if you have a death wish,” the dwarf warned. “Unlike you, Tiny, I don’t intend to die yet. Hey, you think we can take bets? I bet 10 silvers on the dragon.”

“Ugh, must you milk everything for money,” Cassandra glowered at him in disgust.

“Yes, that’s pretty much what it means to be in a Merchant’s Guild,” the dwarf shrugged.

Nym was silent for a while, just staring at the amazing sight. He was awe-stricken. His eyes shone with excitement as he finally spoke, “Let’s get a bit closer. I want a better view.”

“Are you crazy,” Varric shouted in surprise. “Who sees a battle between a giant and a dragon and decides it’d be a good idea to get closer to it!?”

Bull answered almost instantly. “I do!”

All Varric’s hopes of coming through this ordeal alive deflated, “Oh great…Now there’s two of them.”

“Oh, stop fretting, we’ll be careful,” Nym waved him off and started creeping towards the pebbled beach. Then he turned to his comrades and grinned, “So are you coming or not?”

Varric sighed in defeat, “Why are all of my friends such crazy individuals?”

Cassandra gave him a knowing look, “I think that says something about you too.”

The battle was ruthless, deadly and chaotic. The dragon turned out to be of lightning kind and it unleashed pure electricity from its mouth. But the giant was just as vicious, as it responded by throwing everything around it at the dragon. The large hands of the giant closed together and clobbered the dragon on the top of its head like a heavy hammer, just when it was about to shoot out another bolt of lightning. The dragon missed and shot it out at its own feet instead, though as expected it was resistant to its electricity.

“How long do we have to watch this?” Cassandra sighed.

“I thought you’d be thrilled to see a dragon. Wasn’t your family famous for being Dragon Hunters? Just think of it as research…in case you have to fight a dragon one day…or for Varric’s books,” Nym shrugged.

“Now you’re just grasping at straws, Snow,” the dwarf eyed him skeptically.

“And I already fought dragons, remember?” Cassandra corrected him.

“You did?” Bull’s head turned towards her in excitement. “Damn Seeker, you just because about twenty percent hotter,” Bull commented.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Cassandra glared at him warningly.

“I have to agree, Tiny. I suggest you don’t go there if you want to keep your balls in place,” the dwarf muttered, scrunching up his nose as if disgusted by the very thought of what Cassandra might do to him. “Then again, maybe that loosens the stick out of her ass,” he mumbled, hoping the Seeker wouldn’t hear.

Of course she did. “Dwarf!” The warrior woman growled in a warning.

Nym watched the amazing battle of the two legendary creatures, while listening to his comrades bicker in the background. “And the legendary battle continues,” he commented with a sigh.

“What? Is the dragon winning,” Bull asked.

“No idea, I was talking about these two,” the elf shrugged, pointing with his thumb at Cassandra and Varric.

Bull and Solas chuckled, though the other two weren’t as amused.

“It’s fascinating that I feel more bloodlust radiating from you two than from the two creatures fighting to the death, up ahead,” the elven mage added.

“Alright, alright, we get it already,” the dwarf stopped their teasing.

~…..~

Nym groaned as he walked towards the Singing Maiden. Even after five days, everything was still sore. Then again, they spent those five days riding back to Haven on horseback so now he had additional pains to the ones from his skirmishes at the Storm Coast. At least he used that time to get to know their new recruits – the Bull’s Chargers – a bit better.

He saw the elven mage pass him by on the way there. “Hey, Solas. You want to join us for some Wicked Grace at the tavern? Varric is all hyped up about it now that he has more people to bleed dry of all belongings,” Nym smiled wearily. He was usually one of those people.

Solas chuckled, “I think I’ll pass. I was just on my way to speak to researcher Minaeve. I found some new specimens she would be interested in.”

A sly grin spread from ear to pointy ear on the rogue’s face. “Oh? “ _Interesting_ ,” you say. Yes, I’m sure your conversations are quite _exuberant_ ,” he teased. 

The mage repressed the urge to roll his eyes, giving Nym a blank stare. He sighed, “It’s not like that, _Herald,_ ” he called him that on purpose, knowing the elf was sore about that title. “I just find her views on the world….refreshing. She is so invested in understanding the world around her. Not many people are like that in this day and age.”

The other elf smiled, “Hey, I wasn’t accusing or anything. I’m glad you’re spending time with the others in the Inquisition. It’s better than being by yourself the entire time, no?”

“I like the solitude. It gives me time and peace of mind to meditate on many things,” the mage answered, rather vaguely.

Nymrodel sighed, giving up. “Alright, Solas. As long as you’re comfortable,” he smiled genuinely. “I’ll let you be on your way then. I have to go see a dwarf about the pants I already lost to him before,” he sighed wryly.

“Shathe Shiralen,” Solas wished him luck with a small smile, leaving the area.

Nym opened the tavern’s door, instantly hit by the scent of fresh food, sounds of laughter and chatter, and cheerful music in the background. It was as if he entered another realm – one where there was no hole in the sky and the people were relaxed and joyful, instead of dreading each day. It was the best place in Haven to forget about everything that’s happening in the world.

As soon as he entered, he glanced over to Flissa tending the bar. As always, she gave him that slightly nervous smile. She was a good young woman, but every time she talked with him, she would fret about her words, scared of offending him. She wasn’t used to his Dalish nature, so she went out of her way to be polite about it. It was a bit awkward, but Nym didn’t think less of her for it. He preferred it to the fake smiles he sometimes received from the same people who then called him ‘knife-ear’ or ‘savage’ behind his back.

“Snow!” He caught the familiar voice of his dwarven friend and turned to see a table crowded with people. It wasn’t just Varric who turned to greet him. Blackwall, Sera, Krem and scout Harding all raised their tankards at him. Even Cassandra came, although Varric made sure she wasn’t sitting anywhere near him.

He gave them a quick wave and made his way to the bar, to order a drink for himself. Although he could hardly see the bar as the broad back of the Iron Bull was hiding most of it from view. The Qunari already had a pint of ale in his hand and was chatting up Flissa. Unsuccessfully though, probably because the woman never showed interest in any race except humans as far as Nym could tell.

“One pint of ale, please,” he called out to her and gave a polite smile, leaning on the bar next to the large Qunari.

“Right away, Your Worship,” she called out a bit too eagerly, probably relieved that she had an excuse to break conversation with the large Qunari warrior. She walked away, preparing Lavellan’s drink.

“Aw, and here I thought I could make her feel less scared of me if I show her how _polite_ I can be,” Bull feigned disappointment.

Nym chuckled. “Tough luck,” he smirked at the Qunari. “Give them time. They needed time to get used to _me_ , and I’m not towering over everybody with my two meters of height.”

“Do I detect jealously,” the man asked teasingly, referring to Nym’s small stature. Well, he was average for a lean elf, but still small and fragile compared to a Qunari.

“I’m average for my race,” he exclaimed defensively, a bit feistier than he intended. As soon as he realized it, his ears grew hot in embarrassment.

Bull’s sharp eye easily noticed it and he chuckled in amusement. “Just messing with you, kid.” It was fun to rile him up a little. Good to know where his limits were, too. Then he remembered their battles at the Storm Coast. The elf seemed like a completely different person when he fought. He was like an experienced fighter on the field, yet mostly a laid-back guy in his everyday life.

“And I’m not a kid,” Nym’s voice broke his thoughts and brought him back to reality. It was as the elf could read his mind.

“Hm?” The giant hummed in question. He gazed down at him to see Nymrodel looking up with a serious expression. He wasn’t angry, he just stared back at Bull with that clear blue gaze.

“You keep calling me ‘kid,’ but I’m not a child. I am 21 years old and by Dalish tradition I am a mature adult already. That’s what the vallaslin mean,” he pointed at the soft brownish tattoos etched on his face.

Bull already knew what the tattoos meant, since Dalish explained it to him not long after she joined the Chargers. ‘To honor one of our gods,’ she told him. Though he always suspected it was the short and simplified version.

“And I know I look younger than I actually am,” Nym sighed. His friends in the Clan often teased him for it, though, he’d rather not mention that and give people here ideas.

Bull blinked with his eye in wonder, then silently examined the serious elf before him. He remembered the roguish warrior who fought at the Storm Coast and later, when they were attacked on the road back to Haven by a group of bandits. At that time, Lavellan perfectly coordinated their defense and fought like a true warrior…or rogue, Bull corrected. Not to mention, he stood alone and proud against the leader of the Blades, not once flinching away in fear or calling for backup. Indeed, this guy might be young, but there was nothing childish about him. He proved to be a true man so far, albeit a bit young and inexperienced about certain things.

“Alright,” he agreed with a small smile. “Then should I call you ‘Your Worship,’ like Krem does, or ‘the Herald of Andraste’,” he asked, a bit teasingly. He already noticed the guy wasn’t keen on titles. He saw his gentle features contort every time someone called him ‘Herald’ or something similar. The elf didn’t falter when he was being overpowered by a man almost twice his size, but _titles_ made him flinch. Bull found that fact rather amusing.

He was further amused when he saw Nym’s dejected expression at the suggestion. “Please don’t,” he deadpanned.  

Bull laughed, then decided to give him a break. “Then how about I just call you ‘Boss,’ he suggested. “You did hire us, so technically we work for you,” he reminded him.

Nym thought it over, silent for a long time. Then a wide toothy grin spread from one ear to the other. Well now, he really _did_ look like a mischievous child. Although Bull refrained from voicing that opinion out loud.

“Agreed,” the elf finally said.

Bull chuckled. This elf was really a mystery. It was like he could change personalities in an instant, depending on the situation. That was both intriguing and potentially dangerous, the Ben-Hassrath in Bull noted.

“Here’s your ale, Your Worship,” Flissa called out and put a tankard before him.

“Perfect! Let’s get back to the others. Can’t wait to see if Varric’s really as good as he says in Wicked Grace,” Bull exclaimed, patting Nym on his shoulder with one large hand. It almost made the smaller man spill his drink.

“He’s better than me, I can tell you that much,” Nym sighed. He didn’t want to resign himself to loss just yet, but the uneasy feeling was slowly creeping up at him.

The Qunari laughed, “Yeah. I noticed you need to work on your Wicked Grace face, Boss.”

The elf eyed the Qunari silently, then smiled. He called him ‘boss.’

 

* * *

 

Glossary:

_Shathe Shiralen_ – Good luck (or; Happy journeys)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!  
> I'm trying to keep everyone in character as much as possible. Hopefully I'm succeeding. :D


	9. Herald to the rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the story progresses. I hope I proofread this is well. I'm finishing the proofreading now and it's after midnight, so hopefully I didn't miss anything. :')  
> Enjoy the chapter!

 

Nym strained, lifting the heavy tome and walking over to the Enchanter’s table with it. With a loud thud, the thick book fell to the table and it echoed across the Chantry.

“There,” he started, breathing heavily from the exertion. “Another Circle of Magi Tome. Hope it helps,” he finished, turning towards Vivienne. He wiped a bead of sweat off his brow and took a deep breath of relief. That book felt like it weighted a thousand stone.

The First Enchanter put an elegant finger on her lips and pursed them, humming in thought. “Hmmm, I don’t know. Perhaps it is better I keep it in the Chantry library, after all,” she said thoughtfully, pointing at the other side of the building.

The elf froze. “Huh?” He was sure his face paled to ashen white when he thought he’d have to pick the damn tome up and carry it again.

The mage chuckled in amusement, “Relax, darling. I’m only teasing. This will be a perfect place for it.” Even her teasing laughter sounded refined.

Nym let out a relieved sigh. “Don’t play with me like that. I thought I was going to get hernia.”

Vivienne smiled. “Now tell me, I hear you are going to negotiate with the rebel mages at Redcliffe.”

Nym shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortably. He knew Vivienne had _strong opinions,_ to say the least, about the rebel mages and their fight for freedom. She was carefully examining every decision on the matter, watching him like a hawk, either judging or approving his actions.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona invited us. Have you met her,” he asked, trying to lighten the tense atmosphere. It didn’t help much. Fiona was definitely not Vivienne’s favorite subject of conversation.

She sighed in displeasure. “We’ve met. Before her horrendously ill-timed, selfish vote for independence I thought her…adequate at her job. In her dotage, she could not handle looking after the well-being of so many people. We would have done better to replace her years ago, to let her spend time gardening.” There was clear venom in her tone. Usually, she would mask such strong emotions beneath clever, yet stinging quips. It was rare of her to show her distaste so openly. Nym decided it might be best not to invite her along for the negotiations. It would only bring about more unnecessary tension and complicate the meeting with the Mages.

“But if the negotiations go well and the Mages decide to help us…will the Loyalists be willing to work together? Will there be a problem,” he prodded carefully. He needed to assess how much damage control him and his advisors will be forced to do if the rebel mages and the Loyalists unite under the same banner.

The mage gave him a sly smile, her chin held up high. “My dear, we do not always choose the people we need to work with. Sometimes we do not even like them. But if it is for a common goal, our personal feelings must never stand in the way of progress.”

“How very diplomatic of you, Imperial Enchanter,” Nym smirked.

“Of course, my dear. I’m sure Lady Montilyet would agree with me when I tell you that diplomacy is paramount. It is also a big part of this Inquisition… _if_ you want people to truly listen to you, instead of simply conquering them for your cause,” she pointed out.

He shook his head, giving her a weary smile, “You know I have no intention of conquering anybody or anything. I just want to close this Breach and go home.”

“Perhaps not, but you cannot deny the power this Inquisition now possesses. A power you now wield through the Inquisition, as the Herald of Andraste, whether you like it or not. Whether you want it to be a sword or a shield in your hands, that is entirely up to you, my dear.”

“When you talk like that you sound like Mother Giselle,” he chuckled.

“A woman worthy of respect,” she noted. “Albeit, she _could_ work more on how she presents herself to the public. ‘The modest servant of the people’ image might work for her in some circles, but that will hardly get her the attention of nobles, who are, in the end, the ones who decide on the changes she desires,” she added, then shook her head. “But I digress. Just think about your actions carefully. Every decision you make will have consequences. And everything you do will be watched and judged by thousands of eyes,” she warned.

“Including yours,” the elf asked slyly.

The woman didn’t waver in the slightest by his retort. “We all have high expectations of you, my dear,” she answered vaguely, a subtle implication behind her words. “Now if you will excuse me, I am anxious to see in what state this tome is.”

She moved her hands with a graceful gesture and a gentle yellow light enveloped it. The same light appeared around the tome, like sparkling mist. The book rose up as if it was lighter than air, and slowly levitated towards the Enchantress, then opened its pages for her

Nym gaped as he watched Vivienne easily maneuver the heavy book through the air, without needing to touch it. She didn’t even break a sweat, unlike him earlier. “You could do that from the start!?” So what was the point of him hauling it around this whole time?    

~…..~

On his way out of the Chantry, Nym managed to acquire five more reports from Leliana’s agents, two situations from Cullen that needed his attention and a letter of invitation to something called the Black Emporium. By the time he exited the building, he had his arms full with paperwork, trying to balance it all and see over it where he was going. Of course, doing both was impossible and he ended up bumping into someone and stumbling backwards.

“No,no,no,no,no,” he chanted like a mantra as he tried to balance the papers in his hands. If they fall in the snow and get soaked, his advisor will kill him. That alone was motivation enough to regain balance in his step. He sighed in relief when he managed to catch every paper before it fell to the ground.

The other person wasn’t as fortunate. He peered down when he heard a pained wince and paled when he saw an elven servant girl sitting on the ground. It was the same one he first met after waking up in Haven, who was kind enough to help take care of him when he was unconscious, and even bring him elfroot.

It only took him a moment to remember her name. “Athelle,” he exclaimed. “I’m so sorry, are you alright?” He managed to balance the paperwork on one knee with one hand holding onto it, while he reached with the other for the young girl and helped her up.

“Herald! I mean, Your Herald, no, I mean, Your Worship,” the girl was rambling in panic. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking-,” she already started apologizing when Nym cut her off.

“Nonsense, it’s my fault. I couldn’t see in front of me,” he calmed her down.

The girl shook her head, but she kept staring at her feet, at if afraid to look him in the eyes. That wasn’t uncommon for servants or alienage elves when in the presence of nobles or armed humans. Always keep your head down. Never give them any reason to think you’re challenging them somehow. But it pained Nym to think she saw him in the same light as she saw those shemlen.

“No, I was in a hurry. Apothecary Adan told me to get fresh elfroot and I didn’t want to make him wait….he’s scary,” she shifted around awkwardly, a bit guilty for revealing her troubles to the Herald of Andraste. As if he had time to listen to her problems.

Nym’s pointed ears perked up at the word and a glint appeared in his big blue eyes. “Elfroot?”

~…..~

“Umm…I really don’t mind doing this myself. I can’t ask the Herald to help me with such a menial task,” Athelle spoke up shyly as she glanced at the Herald of Andraste crouching over an elfroot plant and cutting it carefully with a sharp knife. She did the same on her end.

They were both in a small field just outside Haven’s gates, at a place which was particularly rich with elfroot. Every time Adan needed more ingredients for his potions, he would send one of the servants out here to cut fresh herbs for him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he waved off her worries. “This is ten times better than paperwork, so in a way, you’re helping _me_ ,” Nym grinned at her. He left all the letters and reports on the desk in his cottage and declared he’d help Athelle with her chore instead. Others would just say he was shirking his duties, but he needed a break. If he saw one more letter from some pompous noble declaring the refugees were a menace to his lands and demanded the Inquisition to _take care of them_ , Nym was going to form an official delegation just to go down there and shove that letter right up his arse where his head probably was.

He erased the thoughts from his mind when he realized the stress was just building up again inside him, and this was supposed to be his time off from all that. Wanting to distract himself, he gazed back at the elf servant, “So how did you end up joining the Inquisition?”

The girl appeared genuinely surprised that he would take interest in her life. “I was born in Ferelden…I lived in the Hinterlands with my family. But when the fighting started, our farm was burned down by rebel mages. My family…,” she trailed off, her hands stopping her work for a moment.

Nym watched her with a saddened expression. He already knew what she was insinuating, without her having to say it directly.

She took a deep breath before continuing, “I managed to escape and joined a refugee camp. Lady Cassandra found us on her way to the Conclave and invited us to Haven. She said it would be safer there. Not many refugees went, since most of them didn’t trust her. But I did…she looked like the very image of a noble knight, in her shining armor…,” the girl smiled slightly at the memory. “So I came here and I’ve been serving the Inquisition ever since.” She looked back at the Herald with a small smile, but there was still a sad gleam in her chocolate-colored eyes. She lost everything in this mage-templar war, Nym realized.

“Are you happy here? I mean…is everyone treating you alright?” Nym had to ask. He knew it was hard being an elf wherever you went; especially when you’re surrounded by humans. And she was always so skittish.

“Oh, yes. You don’t have to worry about me, Your Worship,” she quickly shook her head, but he couldn’t tell if it was the truth or just a reflexive response. “The truth is,” she continued, “I was born in the Denerim Alienage…I know I seem skittish to most people. It’s just…you always had to be careful there. Careful not to step on anyone’s toes, so to speak,” she admitted.

Nym remembered old Zatvel and the Val Royeaux Alienage. After that experience, he knew exactly what she meant.

“There was some trouble there during the Blight, when I was only a little girl, and we left for the Hinterlands. My father wanted to make a better life for us,” she smiled wistfully again. “We didn’t have much. Just a small farm, where every day was hard work from dusk until dawn. But I was happy…happier than in Denerim.”

“I’m sorry, Athelle,” he said in a whisper. He didn’t know what else to say. He wanted to help her, but there was nothing he could do.

The elven girl shook her head, strands of short orange hair flying around her face. “No, I just wanted to explain that I truly _am_ glad for the chance to be here, Your Worship. I believe in this Inquisition the same as everyone else here, and I want to do my part. Whatever I can do to help. The people here are kind too,” she added.

“Except for the scary apothecary Adan,” Nym teased with a smirk.

She flushed red, her big eyes widening in worry, “Oh please don’t tell him I said that, Your Worship!”  

The rogue laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t. And you don’t need to be so scared of him. He scowls a lot, but he’s not a bad man,” he gave her a reassuring smile. He didn’t know if his words would help, but perhaps she will think of them the next time she meets Adan and it will be easier on her.

“I should probably go back. I don’t want him waiting too long,” she admitted, slowly standing up.

Nym nodded and handed her the elfroot he cut. “Here, I think we gathered enough. See, it was much faster working together,” he grinned.

Athelle nodded and gave him a shy smile. For the first time, she looked him in the eyes. “Thank you, Your Worship. It was…fun, too,” she confessed. Then hurriedly, as if afraid she said something inappropriate, the girl bowed two times and ran off towards the gates.

Nym sighed as he watched her leave in a hurry. “I guess this means back to paperwork for me.” What was worse, tomorrow they were heading out for Redcliffe, which meant he had to put everything in order here before leaving. It always felt like there was not enough time for everything he had to do. The pressure in his shoulders returned as he started running through his mind all the tasks he still needed to complete today, before setting off tomorrow.

He rolled his tense shoulders and walked passed the training grounds. The endless clash of metal hit his keen ears. Through it all, he could hear Cullen yelling at the new recruits. He turned to watch for a while as the ex-Templar showed one of the more inexperienced soldiers the proper way to hold a shield. He snickered, remembering Varric’s words; _“Curly needs to find himself a girlfriend, and fast, or there won’t be a training dummy left in Haven.”_

He saw the Commander notice him and give a small nod, which Lavellan returned with a quick wave of his hand. His gaze traveled to the farthest side of the training filed, where Cassandra was tirelessly practicing sword swings on the training dummies. Between her and Cullen, it really was a wonder they even had any training equipment left unscathed. She was on the training grounds as often as their Commander, but always alone. Nym decided to join her and headed towards the practice grounds. The paperwork could wait a while longer.

He saw her spin and deliver another strong slash to the dummy’s side. The wood rattled under her attacks, splinters falling off every now and then. The elf whistled in awe. “Keep this up and we’ll need stronger dummies,” he gave her a wry smile.

The woman jumped in surprise when she noticed him. She was so focused on her imaginary opponent, she didn’t even see him coming over. “Oh, Herald. I did not hear you there, I was…,” she looked back at the dummy with a frown.

“Assaulting the poor training equipment? Don’t worry, I’m sure the dummy had it coming,” he chuckled lightly.

Cassandra just scowled deeper, “I had another _conversation_ with Varric.”

 He sighed, “And needed to let out some steam afterwards, I imagine.” Those two just couldn’t get along. It was a miracle they managed to work together in the field so well, yet they bickered constantly when there was some free time to do so.

“Do not worry. Our…differences will not affect the Inquisition. Besides, I think you are making good progress,” she assured him.

He chuckled, “I wasn’t about to chastise you for it, or anything. As for the progress…I don’t know. It might be too early to tell.” He turned his head and saw some of the Bull’s Chargers in the distance. Unlike Inquisition soldiers, they had training drills of their own, usually led by their Lieutenant, Krem. “I suppose we’re getting better at recruitment.”

“So you are satisfied with our newest arrivals?” Cassandra followed his gaze, though hers stopped on the large Qunari, currently training with another Charger, showing him some offensive moves.

“You’re not?”

Cassandra furrowed her brows, eyeing the grey giant suspiciously. “Trusting a Qunari is difficult enough. Trust a Qunari _spy_ , however, is like trusting a scorpion not to sting you.”

_*That’s a cheery thought,*_ he mused with sarcasm, but decided to keep that comment to himself. “I was thinking of inviting him tomorrow, for the talks in Redcliffe,” he added.

The Seeker nodded, then eyed Nym with a knowing look before she finally sighed. It felt like she was having a mental argument with herself and then finally reached a decision. “The truth is I also misjudged _you_ in the beginning, and you proved me wrong. As I learned more about you, I realized you are a good man. So I will keep my reservations about the Chargers to myself from now on….at least until we learn more about them.”

The elf gave her a sheepish smile and scratched the back of his neck. “In all honesty, I also misjudged you, Cass. I mean, at least you gave me a chance to prove my innocence while everyone else wanted to execute me,” he shrugged. “You are much more understanding than I gave you credit for. Plus, you saved my ass from that Pride demon when I was still only a prisoner. I owe you one,” he grinned at her.

“It was all in the line of duty. But if you still feel indebted, then how about you close the Breach and we will call it even,” she smirked. It was refreshing to see something other than a displeased scowl on her features.

Nym laughed, “Oh, just that?”

“I would also like to accompany you tomorrow,” she added in a more serious manner.

He nodded, still smiling at her. “You can count on it.” Then the demon of paperwork peered into his mind again, reminding him of what must be done before tomorrow. He sighed dramatically, “I need to stop procrastinating and get back to work.”

The Seeker nodded, “I enjoyed the company.” As the elf started walking away, she called out behind him, “You know, my full name is Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast.”

Nym turned to her with his jaw slack. Her name was even more complicated than Keeper Istimaethoriel’s!

“Cass…that is what you called me just now.”

Did he? He must’ve done it unintentionally. He stiffened, “Is that a problem?”

The Seeker shook her head. “Not at all. It is much simpler than my full name…I like it,” she smiled, which made her features appear softer than usual.

“I’m glad you like it, then.” He thought for a while before smiling brightly, “I like it too. I’ll use that nickname more often,” he said, then added, “ _If_ you stop with the Herald stuff and just simply call me Nym.”

“It is a deal,” the warrior woman nodded with another smile.

~…….~

Nym leaned back in his chair and groaned, feeling the strain in his neck. He must have been sitting for hours, slouched over his work desk. It was already dark outside when he finally took a break, right after deciding on his next move after reading a letter from Sister Dorcas Guerrin about her Avvar studies. He squeezed his tired eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose to try and escape the rising headache. He was wondering if he had time to go grab a meal from the kitchens, when the doors of his cottage flew open.

“Your Worship,” one of Leliana’s agents rushed in, breathing heavily. He recognized her immediately as Charter.

He instantly sensed something was amiss. Nym stood up with worry clear in his eyes, “What’s wrong?”

“We got an urgent message from Scout Harding, ser.” She handed him a piece of paper she held in her hand. It was a letter from the Fallow Mire.

“Is she alright,” the rogue questioned, too impatient and worried to find out on his own from the writing.

“Yes, I believe so…But some of our soldiers were taken by the Avvar,” the agent explained with a dark expression.

Nym’s eyes widened as he saw the contents on the parchment. His thoughts instantly went back to the massacred bodies of the Inquisition soldiers they found at the Storm Coast. He couldn’t let that happen again. He had to save these people, at least. He had to be quicker this time.

He crumpled the piece of paper in his hand, his blue eyes gleaming with a fire in them as his gaze hardened. It appeared the mages in Redcliffe will have to wait. “I’ll inform the others…we’re heading out immediately.”

~…..~

A groaning corpse slowly shuffled on its way forward, undeterred by the knee-high water it was standing in. Its skin was rotten and crusty with mud, bones already visible in some places. It had no weapons, but its nails and teeth mutated into sharp claws and fangs. Even though a spirit resided in this dead body, its eyes were hollow. Despite its movement and low growls, there was no real life in this body.

The corpse finally stopped when a flying arrow pierced right though its eye, sending the undead body collapsing to the ground.

“Ewww! Another squishy one.” Sera twisted her face in disgust as she nocked another arrow in her bow.

Nym appeared, guarding her flank, and slashed at some forgotten corpse of a soldier, cutting its throat with one dagger and using the other to stab through its eye. “They’re corpses – they’re _all_ squishy,” he noted, the repulsion on his face equaling hers.

Of all the monsters to haunt this cursed bog, it just _had_ to be the undead. They’ve been dragging themselves through murky waters and muddy roads of the Fallow Mire for hours now and they haven’t even reached the Inquisition camp yet. The deeper into the marsh they went, the more undead they’ve seen.

Solas deducted there were signs of a plague that must’ve consumed an entire village. By the boarded up houses and piles of burnt bodies, it wasn’t hard to tell what kind of fate befell them.

“The Veil is particularly thin here. The spirits have come through and possessed these fallen bodies,” the elven mage explained. He pointed at a Felandaris plant – a herb that only grew where the Veil was thin.

The Iron Bull groaned with mixed distaste and anger, “Fucking demons, can’t leave anything be!” He swung his giant axe and cut two corpses in half at the same time. “Just remember, anything poking up from the water could be a horrible monster acting like a stick,” he added in a warning.

Nym imagined the scene; a rotting corpse crouching in the shallow waters, pretending to be a piece of floating wood. The imagery was somewhat comical, making the elf forget his distaste of the undead for a while. He almost laughed, but then remembered this was no time for amusement. Erasing the image from his mind, he squinted his eyes through the fog rising around them and noticed the red tents in the distance. “I think I can see the camp.” Even his sharp eyes had trouble seeing through this hazy darkness.

“Ugh, finally,” The elven girl exclaimed and hit an undead corpse with her bow, making its helmet spin. She took an arrow from her quiver and thrust it into the corpse’s chest with her hand.

Solas provided covering fire, sending a barrage of energy at the undead following after them as the group made their way to the camp. It felt as if for every undead they killed, two more arose from the marsh.

Nym’s face instantly brightened when he saw Scout Harding awaiting them in the camp. She looked relieved to see them, but there was a dark expression on her face. She was worried about her soldiers as much as Lavellan was.

“Your Worship, thank you for coming so quickly. Maybe you can solve this mess,” she greeted, then nodded towards the rest of them.

“What’s the status on our missing guys,” Bull asked.

“They’re still alive…Maker willing, but they’re held hostage by an Avvar tribe. They’re leader…he wants them to fight you; because you are the Herald of Andraste.”

Nym had to stifle a groan. “Is it just me or has that title brought more bad than good over these past few months?”

“I would say at least an equal measure of both,” Solas chuckled.

“So what, they some anti-Andraste shits or somethin’,” Sera asked.

“Something like that,” the dwarven scout started. “The Avvar believe there are gods in nature. As in; the sky has a god, and the forest…The Avvar say you’re claiming to be sent by one and they’ll challenge the will of your God with their own,” she explained.

“But I’m _not_ claiming to be sent by Andraste,” he sighed. He was so tired of that Herald business already. 

“That is not how the world sees it. Your very title, _Herald of Andraste_ , says otherwise,” the elven mage reminded him.

Scout Harding frowned. “Personally, I think their leader is just a boastful little prick who wants to brag he killed you.”

Nym could see she was more upset about it than she let on. He understood. They lost soldiers recently in the Storm Coast and she didn’t want a repeat of that. She was the one who needed to write to their families about what happened, after all.

And truthfully – he was just as pissed off about it as she was. “He won’t get the chance,” he reassured her. “Don’t worry, we’ll get our patrol back.” The tone in his voice left no room for doubts.

“Hell yeah, we will,” Bull exclaimed behind him.

Harding chuckled in relief. As if it became a bit easier to breathe just by having the Herald’s group deal with the situation. “They are holed up in an old Keep, down South. And there’s more of them than there are of us. Getting to our troops won’t be easy, you’ll have to fight your way through undead.”

_*Ugh, not more undead,*_ Nym cursed in his mind. The more scout Harding talked about them, the more dejected his expression became.

His expression didn’t go unnoticed by the dwarf. “Wait…You’re not squeamish about the undead, by any chance,” she asked, a slight teasing undertone in her voice.

The elf stiffened ever-so-slightly. ‘Squeamish’ might be an understatement. Out of all the ungodly monsters Nymrodel’s imagination could concoct, the undead were among the ones he hated the most. He would rather take on demons than undead corpses any day. They just felt so unnatural. The demons used to be spirits, but the undead were once _people_. Just like him. Yet now they were something twisted and decayed, that made his skin crawl. They were just so…creepy - the way they shuffled towards you, groaning, with their eyes completely devoid of any emotion…any life. Even demons felt more alive than that.

Still, there was no way he could admit he felt that way to his dwarven scout, especially since he could see his group awaiting his answer with interest. They were ready to tease him about it if given the chance, he was certain.

He averted his eyes, a bead of sweat appearing on his temple as he tried to play it cool, “Whaaat? Me, the Herald, squeamish of corpses? Hardly!” He could see she wasn’t buying it. None of them were. Fenedhis, he always did suck at lying. With a sigh he admitted, “Fine. They’re hardly on the list of my favorite monsters,” he grumbled.

He could see amused smirks in the corner of his eyes.

“Right!? They’re so creeeepy,” Sera agreed, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

 “So the demon-banishing Herald is afraid of corpses,” Solas concluded teasingly.

“I’m not afraid,” Nym argued quickly, turning his head to glare at them. He could feel his ears burning, turning red.

“Don’t worry, boss, we’ll protect you,” Bull grinned slyly.

Nym rolled his eyes and made a disgusted noise, much like Cassandra often did.

Scout Harding chuckled at their bickering. At least it broke the tense atmosphere. “In that case, you might want to stay out of the water. The movement of water seems to disturb them,” she suggested with a smile. At least she showed some mercy and didn’t join in the teasing.

“If the Avvar are really holed up in a castle, we’ll need more men than just the four of us to storm it,” Nym concluded.

“Then it was a good thing we sent the Chargers ahead of us to clear out a path,” Bull noted. Krem took some of his men and led them ahead through the Fallow Mire. “They should’ve found a good camping spot ahead by now.”

“That was good thinking Bull,” Lavellan smiled at the Qunari approvingly. Bull had suggested they take some extra precautions against the Avvar, since they were a brawny bunch, and he was right. Nym also doubted things will go as smoothly as they did with the Blades of Hessarian where he only needed to defeat their leader.

“Alright, enough talk! Let’s go get our soldiers back and rip these Av-whatever guys a new one,” Sera interjected, getting impatient.

“ _Avvar_ ,” Solas corrected her.

“Whatever,” the girl stuck her tongue at him.

~…..~

With a loud cry, Krem brought down his sword down onto the head of another corpse. Watching his back, Skinner took out the archers that rose from the high waters behind them.

The stink of scorched flesh tickled his nose as Dalish used her magic to burn any undead that would get close to the group. Some of them were soldiers from some forgotten battle – armored and armed with old, rusted equipment. Others were just farmers and unfortunate villagers who died from the plague. They didn’t have any weapons, but their nails and teeth grew into sharp claws and fangs, and they tried to tear into the flesh of anything living that their dead eyes would notice. They weren’t hard to deal with one-on-one, but the real problem of the undead were their numbers. They always came in large groups, easily overwhelming any inexperienced soldier who let their guard down. Luckily, Bull’s Chargers were hardly inexperienced.

A Wraith appeared on Krem’s left, but Dalish called out her nature magic and snuffed its light as large boulders of stone broke from the ground and squished it from every side.

“Demons, the undead, Avvar…and fighting them all in calf-deep muck. Why can’t we ever go anywhere nice,” the Dalish mage complained.

“Sure. Next time we’ll ask the Avvar to ‘please hold the Inquisition soldiers hostage in some sunny meadow,’ Krem answered with sarcasm.

“I’d be fine with anything that just doesn’t have ‘mire’ in its name,” Stiches grumbled as he cut down another corpse with his sword.

“Dalish, stop complaining and help me with this damn Shade,” Skinner yelled out just before she dodged another clawed hand. The demon roared in anger when she stabbed another dagger in its side, then tried to slash at her with both hands. She disappeared in a matter of seconds, reappearing behind it and stabbing it with both daggers in the back. “Hit it with your magic while I have it occupied.”

“I do _not_ use magic,” the other elf complained, just as she summoned her magic to freeze the Shade. Ironically, her staff really was the shape of an exceptionally long bow; only it was carved with elven runes and had a bright crystal at the top. For aiming, she would always say. 

With an angry cry, Skinner stomped at the frozen demon, shattering it to pieces. 

As soon as they thought it was over, another group of five undead appeared. The corpses groaned, shuffling towards them on the road up ahead.

Cremisius sighed, “There’s no end to them. Everyone, get ready for another round,” he yelled, preparing his sword and raising his shield. His weapon was stained with blood, dirt and guts from everything it sliced through.

“Leave this to me,” Rocky grinned underneath his thick mustache, his hands already holding two lit grenades. The dwarf tossed the grenades, laughing loudly like a maniac, as he bombarded the incoming corpses. “Hahahaha! Watch ‘em go!”

The others in the group simply stared in silence, sweat on their brows, as they watched the crazy dwarf go wild with his bombs. When the smoke cleared, there was nothing but pieces of their enemies lying about in the mud. 

“Well that’s….taken care of then,” their Lieutenant started, not sure what to say to that scene. Then again, it wasn’t anything they weren’t used to already.

“…..,” Grim agreed with a grunt.

“At least we cleared this place out. We can make camp now and wait for the Chief,” Stiches shrugged. “Anyone with any wounds, to me. And I mean; _any_. Scratches the undead leave might not look like much at first, but they fester quickly and the infection can easily kill you.”

As they walked to find a good camping spot in the marsh, Rocky’s excited voice still echoed. “Did ya all see me bombardin’ those dead sods!? Did ya see how they lit up like nug roasts? Hahaha!”

The others chuckled warmly. “Yeah, Rocky, we all saw it. Good work,” Krem smiled.

~……~

Nym threw another dagger at the corpse, ending its moaning existence. Another undead soldier rose from the grass behind them, but barely had time to rise its sword before Bull’s giant axe fell down on its head.

“You ok, boss?”

“You seem a bit winded,” Sera grinned at the other rogue teasingly.

“Easy for you to say,” Nym muttered. They’ve been battling the undead and demons the whole way through the Fallow Mire, which was hard enough. But unlike the rest of them, he was the one who had to close the fade rifts, and each time he used the mark, he could feel a little bit of his energy draining away. Sera and Solas mostly hung in the back in every fight, having supporting roles. Even the Iron Bull had to just stand there and let all the enemies come to him, and he happily took on groups of undead all at once. But Nym was always leaping or running around to dodge his opponents, taking down demons twice his size. Jumping onto a Terror demon’s back and bringing it down wasn’t easy for one small elf. 

“I don’t know why the Avvar would even want to live in this Creators’ forsaken place, plagued with demons and corpses,” he grimaced.

“I don’t know, but it seems you might get a chance to ask them,” the elven mage answered and pointed at a figure ahead.

The first thing Nym saw, however, wasn’t a person, but a green scar floating in the air and casting shadows onto the ground. It looked similar to the unopened fade rift he dealt with at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Beneath the rift, a large person stood, resting what looked like a giant maul on their shoulder. The person, a man, was muscular and brawny. Not as much as the Iron Bull, but still noticeably big.

“Better yet, let’s ask him about our missing soldiers,” Nym said and carefully approached the Avvar warrior. He kept his dual daggers unsheathed, ready to defend himself if needed.

The man watched them approach, but his demeanor didn’t change. He rested one hand on the warhammer’s pommel, but he didn’t bring it down from his shoulders. That was a good sign, at least.

As soon as they came close to the rift, Nym’s hand crackled, the mark on his palm glowing more intensely as if awoken by the dormant rift above them - A scene that didn’t go unnoticed by the Avvar. 

“Greetings,” the elven rogue started politely. “We are the agents of the Inquisition…I’ve come to find my missing men,” he explained.

The man gazed at each person carefully, his eyes piercing beneath the mask. They stopped on the white-haired elf and the glowing mark on his hand. “So you’re Herald of Andraste. My kin want you dead, Lowlander, but it’s not my job. No fear from me,” he reassured them.

Nym let out a relieved sigh. At least that was one battle they managed to avoid. “Not that I’m complaining, but how come?”

The Avvar warrior chuckled as if he just heard an amusing joke. “Our Chieftain’s _son_ wants to fight you. He calls himself the Hand of Korth. Awe-hungry fool, he is. I don’t pick up a blade for a whelp’s trophy hunt,” there was clear disdain in his voice. “I’m called when the dead pile up; rites to the gods, mending for the bleeding, a dagger for the dying. That’s what I do.”

“Ask about the people,” Sera reminded, as if he could forget.

“The other Avvar kidnapped an Inquisition patrol…,” he hesitated a bit before continuing, preparing himself for the worst just in case, “Are they still alive?”

The Avvar was silent for far too long before he answered, grinding on Nym’s nerves. “A few were injured in the skirmish, but they were alive last I saw them.”

The elf could feel a heavy weight being lifted from his chest. He dared a small relieved smile. _*So they are alive. Thank the Creators.*_

“But why are you here alone, friend,” Solas interjected.

The Avvar raised his head and looked at the green scar in the air, just above him, “I’m trying to figure out this hole in the World. Never seen anything like its like. They spit out angry spirits. Endless! What the Sky’s trying to tell us….I don’t know,” he looked troubled as he spoke.

Solas was the one who answered him, “They are caused by the Breach in the sky. It was magic gone wrong.”

“Can’t even put an arrow in that shite,” Sera snarled in distaste.

The Avvar chuckled again, “I know _that,_ Lowlander,” he turned to Solas. “I’m talking about the Lady of the Skies,” he explained, as if it was common knowledge. When he noticed four blank expressions before him, the man was slightly taken aback, “Do you not know Her? Can’t you see the warnings She writes in the bird flocks in the air?”

Solas hummed, “Interesting how diverse Ferelden beliefs are.”

The Avvar warrior snarled, “Call me Ferelden again, Lowlander, and see what happens.” Suddenly, the atmosphere grew tense.

Nym quickly interjected, lest a fight starts. “I don’t know about your Lady, but these fade rifts are dangerous. Perhaps, we can assist with this one.”

The elven mage nodded, “This one has not opened completely. It is better to open it and then close it shut properly. I am sure you still remember how, from the Temple,” he turned to Nym, ignoring the dubious glare the Avvar was giving him.

Lavellan nodded, “Everyone get ready. I’m opening the rift.” He raised his left hand and aimed his palm at the green scar. He felt a sudden pull of energy as a bright light flowed from his mark towards the rift. With a loud explosion of light, the Veil tore open.

Bright green light pierced through the darkness. Rather than turning into demons, as soon as the portal opened, spirits rushed out and possessed the first dead body they could find in the bog. Groans and hisses filled the air as bodies started rising around them. Their bones rattled as some were nothing more than skeletons by now.

Bull grinned as he grabbed his axe from behind his back again, “Let’s finish this quickly and join my guys.”

~……~

With only a few corpses to threaten them, and the additional help of the Avvar warrior, the group made quick work of the undead.

When the rift was weakened and the spirits banished, Nym aimed his mark towards the hole again. This time, after a crackling of energy, the fade rift closed with another explosion.

The rogue huffed, feeling a sudden weakness wash over him as it always did after he closed a rift. He could feel the sweat forming on his forehead, mixed with rain drops that made his hair stick to his face. His armor was getting uncomfortably soaking wet, even with the light materials it was made from.

“Lady of the Skies! You can mend the gaps in the air,” the Avvar exclaimed.

Bull grinned proudly as if it was him who just closed the rift, “Pretty great, huh?”

Nym smirked, but there was a tired look in his eyes.

The Avvar warrior continued, “Maybe you _do_ have a Gods’ favor. In that case, let me give you some more information as gratitude; I saw more soldiers going South,” he pointed at a cobble-stone road, though most of it was destroyed.

“Oh, those must’ve been the Chargers,” Bull noted, pleased that his men were right on track.

“Follow that path and it will eventually lead you to the castle the Chieftain’s son is using. Your patrol should be there also, Lowlander.” 

The elf smiled gratefully, feeling his breath returning to him. “Thank you…Ah, I don’t even know your name, Avvar.”

“You may call me Amund, Lowlander. Amund the Sky Watcher – a shaman of the Lady of the Skies,” he introduced himself formally. “You Lowlanders fight well. You have my respect. If you survive the battle against the Chieftain’s foolish son, perhaps we shall meet again.”

Nym had to lift his head high up just to see in the other’s eyes, how much the Avvar was taller than him. Even so, he stood upright with pride when he gave the man a stare full of confidence. “That man started this fight when he took our people…but I intend to finish it. I’m bringing that patrol back and _alive_.” 

~……~

It took almost an hour of splashing through the marsh to finally reach the familiar red tents of the Inquisition’s camp. Nym grinned when he saw Lieutenant Aclassi and some of the other Chargers waiting for them there, maps of the Fallow Mire in tow. Still, his smile was nothing compared to the beaming look Bull wore as soon as he saw his men again, all alive and well.

“You’re late,” Krem taunted when he saw his leader arrive. He was much more respectable when greeting the Herald, however, “Your Worship.”

“How’s the road up ahead, Krem,” the elf asked.

“As shitty as you’d expect,” Skinner grumbled instead.

“Skinner scouted ahead, but there’s no good news, I’m afraid. It’s all cluttered with the undead. A few Avvar scout posts, too. Still, it’s nothing we can’t deal with,” Krem reported with confidence. He led them to a table they set up in the camp and opened the maps of the Fallow Mire, showing their location and the Avvar Keep down South. There was still quite a bit of road to take between them. It was dangerous and treacherous, just like the rest of the bog was so far.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Krem,” Bull warned, humorless now. “I’m sure the guys are all on edge from fighting all kinds of crap all day. They should rest some before continuing. Storming a castle won’t be easy work.” He turned to the Herald as he spoke.

Nym looked troubled as he pressed his lips in a thin line. What the Qunari said was true and he didn’t want the Chargers to get wounded or killed in battle because of exhaustion. Yet he was also worried about the Inquisition patrol. “But if we wait too long, the Avvar might kill our soldiers.” His face almost showed desperation as he looked up at the Qunari warrior, “I can’t let what happened to the soldiers at the Storm Coast happen to this patrol. I can’t fail my men like that again!”

Bull put two heavy arms on Nym’s shoulders, a worried gleam in his eye. “Hey, calm down, Boss. You didn’t let anyone down and you won’t now, either,” he reassured him in a stern tone.

“I do not believe they will kill the hostages until this Hand of Korth gets to fight you. They would lose their only means of baiting you, otherwise,” Solas explained.

“Chief, we can do this. We’ll plan this right and the Avvar won’t know what hit them,” Krem added, giving them all a fearless look. 

“I say we go now, then. Can’t trust these Av-whatevers to keep our guys alive,” Sera proclaimed, staring intently at Lavellan.

All eyes were on Nym. They all awaited his final decision. He grinded his teeth, mulling over all possibilities. He shut his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows for concentration, before opening them when he reached his decision. “Everyone, take one hour to rest, no more. Meanwhile, we’ll plan our strategy with Krem,” he said dryly. He knew an hour wasn’t much after a long day of fighting, but at least they’ll have some time to fill their bellies before heading out again.

Krem, Bull, Solas and Nym made a strategy against the Avvar the best they could with what information Skinner and Dalish could gather on their scouting. They also invited Sera to join their planning, but the girl just said to tell her where to stick her arrows and she was good.

In the end, they managed to finish before their time ran out, giving Nym a few moments to eat an already-cold meal and rest his tired feet. He sat next to the Qunari, who somehow managed to find a tankard of ale to quench his thirst.

Nym gave him an apologetic look, “Sorry I couldn’t give the Chargers more time to rest. I know you don’t want them fighting tired.”

Bull huffed. “Don’t you worry about my guys, they’re used to having it tough. They’ll do fine,” he nodded with a confident expression.

“Yeah, the Chief’s just a big worrywart,” Krem grinned as he sat beside them.

“Why do you think he’s always going on ahead, bashing everything from the front lines? He just doesn’t want us running into unknown territory before him,” the elven mage of the Chargers spoke, smiling at the Qunari. Nym remembered the others called her Dalish, though it was just a nickname, like with everyone else in the group. He felt a bit guilty, realizing he still didn’t know half the names of Bull’s Chargers. He made a mental note to get to know all of them properly, once all of this was over.

“Hey, I charge at the front lines because I’m an unstoppable killing machine. Don’t make me sound like some soft sap,” Bull growled at his men and they all chuckled. They all knew he cared, more than he was comfortable admitting. “I have a reputation to upkeep,” the Qunari argued.

“Besides, you’re paying us as your mercenary company… _a lot_ ,” Dalish grinned. She had a mischievous twinkle in her pretty blue eyes, and bright green vallaslin of Dirthamen – the God of secrets and knowledge, often chosen by Dalish mages. Yet she insisted she was a backup archer.

“…..,” Grim only grunted in agreement.

Nym gave them all a relieved smile, “Thank you, everyone.”

Unbeknownst to him, Bull was smirking at the elf. He was glad Lavellan wasn’t one of those leaders who expected his soldiers to die for him if need be, as if it was a small matter. The rogue understood these people were risking their lives for him, and he didn’t take that knowledge lightly; Bull could see it in his expressions. The Qunari decided this man would be a fine boss for the Bull’s Chargers – at least until the Breach was closed.

“So when we get back, the drinks are on the Boss,” Bull grinned.

The Chargers cheered, along with Sera, who decided to get on that promise.

“Hey!” Nym exclaimed, elbowing the Iron Bull’s bicep, who just laughed whole-heartedly in return. The elf shook his head, but chuckled. In truth, he didn’t have any problem with that, even as he complained that Bull shouldn’t decide things for him.

~……~

Two Avvar hunters were guarding their post on the road, scouting the area for any incoming enemies. No doubt, they were expecting the Inquisition’s men to come since it was the only path to the castle. They huddled around the fire, trying to keep warm and stay in the light, lest something from the darkness attacks them. They both held their longbows close, in case any danger arises.

The preparedness didn’t do them much good.

 An arrow flew out of nowhere, piercing the first Avvar in the eye. The hunter woman didn’t even have time to shout in pain before her dead body hit the ground.

The other only had time to gasp and raise her bow before a blade came from behind her and slit her throat. As her body fell to the ground, Skinner appeared, standing behind her. Out from a nearby wall came Nym, where he was masking his presence. He was to act in case Sera missed her target, which of course, didn’t happen. The archer girl never missed. He was a bit jealous how easy she made it look, while he always struggled with the bow. He was mediocre, at best.

Meanwhile, Skinner whistled once as a signal, and far away from the campsite, the bushes rustled. The Inquisition group came out and joined the two elves.

“Not bad. They never saw you coming,” Bull commented to Skinner, looking at the two Avvar bodies.

“I wasn’t even needed,” Nym noted and saw Sera smirk proudly at her skills. “If we keep taking out their guarding posts like this, we can take the leader in the Keep by surprise.”

“That is the plan,” Solas nodded, leaning on his staff.

There were a few more guarding posts on the way, but the campsites never had more than three people in them. With the rogues in the group, the Inquisition troops could easily take care of the Avvar hunters before they could notice something was amiss.

Sera would surprise them with her quick arrows, while Skinner and Nym would sneak close enough to attack them from behind. If needed, Solas and Dalish would assist by using their magic to freeze the guards and incapacitate them. The Avvar never had time to raise the alarm.

Cleaning out the undead, Wraiths and the tribespeople, the group proceeded until they finally reached the first wall of the castle. The Avvar stronghold looked more like a ruin than a defensible castle, already ravaged by time and countless battles of the past. The front gates were open, as if inviting the Inquisition inside, but Nym could see the castle’s courtyard up ahead with another set of gates that were closed. That wasn’t the only problem. A horde of the undead shuffled in front of the castle wall, with only a few badly-made barricades keeping them away. Inside the courtyard, the Avvar were guarding the other gates, their archers shooting at the corpses that would come too close to the walls.

“Shit,” Bull cursed beside him.

Nym gulped, feeling they were out of luck. Of course, all their progress so far was too good to be true. Things were simply going too smoothly to continue on that path.

“There’s too many undead. If we try to fight our way through them, the Avvar will just pick us off one by one with their archers,” Krem clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“Then we run,” Lavella proclaimed, feeling all eyes on him once more. “Krem, take the Chargers to the left, try to keep in cover as much as possible. My group will pass on the right. You run and don’t stop until you’re inside the courtyard,” he gave everyone a warning look. “Once inside, Skinner, Sera and I will take care of the archers and open the second gates. The rest, take on any Avvar you see and try to keep them at bay until we’re inside the castle,” he explained, making sure his voice was laced with confidence. The last thing they needed now was a hesitant leader. He had to show them they could do this.

Krem gave him a curt nod, his eyes sharp and serious. Nobody was grinning anymore.

“Let’s go.”

They all leaped from their cover and started running towards the gates as fast as their armors would allow. Nym and the other rogues were in the lead, unburdened by their lighter equipment, but the warriors were slowly falling behind. Even so, he had no time to turn around and look. He needed to press on and get to the Avvar archers before they had time to start raining down arrows on them.

He noticed a corpse limping towards him from the right and the rogue unsheathed one dagger. Without stopping, he bashed the corpse’s temple with the butt of the dagger that had a small blade on the end, pushing it away from him. He dodged as another undead tried to grab him and then jumped over a makeshift barricade. Only a few more steps and he’d be in the courtyard. An arrow whizzed next to his head, too close for comfort. The Avvar had finally noticed them and raised the alarm. The soldiers were charging towards him, while the archers shot at his group from the upper terrace above. He glanced at Skinner, who returned his look and gave a slight nod that indicated she knew what to do next.

Nym lifted the kerchief around his neck to his nose, using it like a mask to cover his nose and mouth. He took two small balls from his coat pocket and tossed them to the ground. As soon as he did, smoke rose all around him, masking him and his rogues from view. The Avvar soldiers stopped, coughing while their eyes watered from the smoke. They couldn’t see anything before them, let alone recognize friend from foe. Nym, Skinner and Sera moved expertly around them, not even making contact with them, as they aimed for the archers on the battlements.

The arrows stopped since the archers couldn’t see their targets clearly anymore. By the time they realized they were attacked, Skinner and Nym were already up the stairs, each on one side, and only a few paces away from them. Sera stopped half-way and nocked one arrow, shooting it at one of the archers. The arrow pierced through the neck and the Avvar huntress fell over the railing and down to the courtyard. 

Nym held both daggers in his hands when he rushed at the first archer. Still running, he slashed with one blade at the man’s neck just as he passed him by, never halting before he jumped forward into a roll to avoid another arrow and close the distance to his next target quicker. He slashed up while he stood up, his blade traveling across the man’s stomach. His other blade stabbed the man’s kidney and Nym quickly spun him around and used him as a shield for two more arrows that came his way. He tossed the man from the terrace and saw the archer woman who shot at him. He noticed Skinner sneaking up from behind her, before she grabbed her by the hair and stabbed the back of her neck with a dagger.

Between Sera, Skinner and himself, it wasn’t long before they took care of all the archers. Yet the problems hardly stopped there. He could hear the clashing of metal and looked down to see the rest of the Chargers viciously fighting against the Avvar soldiers, while Dalish and Solas gave them supporting fire. However, he could see the undead horde drawing closer from behind. Soon, the Chargers will be pinned down with the corpses tearing at their backs and the brawny Avvar attacking their front. Even with the Iron Bull taking two opponents at a time and the mages raining fire and ice on their enemies, they wouldn’t last long.

Nym gritted his teeth. “There has to be some mechanism here that closes the outer gates”, he exclaimed, frantically looking around.

“There! The lever,” Skinner yelled as she noticed a metal lever on the battlements.

Nym practically leaped to it, grasping the lever and pulling it down. Except it wouldn’t budge. The old mechanism was rusted, the lever stuck in place. Nym pulled down harder, yet nothing happened. With panic in his eyes, he saw the undead almost upon them. Dalish and Solas now turned to deal with them, trying to keep the horde at bay, while the soldiers fought the surprisingly-resilient Avvar.

“Come on, hurry,” Sera shouted at the other elf, urging him on.

 He brought all of his weight down onto the lever, pushing it with all his might. “Come on you useless, rusted piece of shit,” he yelled angrily and clenched his teeth as he gave one final push. With a loud screech of straining metal, the lever moved.

The old gates protested as the metal on them grated, but they moved. Slowly but surely, the front gates fell down, leaving most of the undead outside the courtyard. The corpses reached through the bars or hit their weapons on them, groaning in complaints.  

Nym exhaled in relief. What’s more, the second gates opened from the same mechanism, allowing the Inquisition forces to proceed deeper into the castle. Now the only thing left was to clean out the remaining Avvar from the courtyard and push on. He jumped over the railing, ignoring the height, his two daggers out and ready. He landed right on the back of a large Avvar with his two blades stabbing his shoulders and bringing him down. The man fell with a panicked shout, his eyes growing wide as the rogue’s daggers stabbed down for a second time, this time piercing the man’s chest.

He looked up to see another Avvar running towards him with an enraged cry, ready to avenge his comrade. His vision was clouded when Bull stepped between them, swinging with his axe once and digging it deep into the man’s ribs, just as the other raised his hands to swing down his weapon at Nym. The elf blinked as the Avvar collapsed before Bull’s feet.

The Qunari turned around and gave him a toothy grin, his expression clearly stating, _‘Did you see me save your ass just now?’_

Nym only rolled his eyes and snorted, “I had the situation under control, you know.”

Bull was amused by the elf’s pouty expression. He could see his thin eyebrows furrowing in a crease on his forehead. “Of course you did. I just lent a hand,” he shrugged.

Lavellan stood up and realized the battle around them was coming to an end. With a few more throats slashed to make sure their opponents were truly dead, the Chargers finished. He gazed forward at a narrow path that led straight to the castle’s main gates. “Now the only thing left is to find that asshole calling himself the Hand of Korth and rescue our men.”

“Let’s not keep him waiting, Your Worship,” Krem added with a glare towards the castle gates.

“’Sides, I’d rather take on real people than those squishy ones,” Sera grimaced as she looked back at the corpses still trying to reach them through the gates.

Nym couldn’t agree more.

~……~

Nym gazed up at the large wooden doors of the castle. They were rotten from the rain and old age, barely holding together. He looked at his group with a devilish smirk, “Shall we knock?”

Solas stepped forward; quite uncommon for the usually quiet elf who fought from the back rows. “Allow me.” The ground shook around him as rocks were separated from the ground or stone walls, creating one large boulder that floated in front of his staff. With a small jerk of his staff, the boulder flew forward, smashing the doors in pieces and opening a way forward.

“Nice use of primal magic,” Dalish exclaimed, only to clear her throat awkwardly when everyone’s eyes fell on her. “Not that I know anything about that,” she added.

“So you finally came, Herald of Andraste! Let us see whose God is stronger! Face me!” A voice called out from the throne room, where the mighty Avvar leader was standing, holding a giant warhammer that even made Bull’s axe look small in comparison. “I am the Hand of Korth himself!”

“Who the fuck cares,” the Qunari warrior growled as he brought his axe in his hands.

Nym eyed the Avvar leader on the other side of the throne hall. The man was strong and tall, even larger than the ex-leader of the Blades of Hessarian. He wasn’t sure he could survive that battle one-on-one, but despite the Avvar’s boastful words, it seemed the warrior didn’t have any intention of making this a fight between only the two of them anyway. There were archers and a few Avvar soldiers covering themselves with broad metal shields. They all stood in a line, in front of their leader, protecting him.

_*So much for wanting to face_ me _in battle,*_ Nym deadpanned, although he hardly cared about the Avvar’s true intentions. All he wanted was to save the Inquisition soldiers. “Where are our men,” he called out loud enough for the leader to hear, as he walked towards the throne.

The Hand of Korth laughed mockingly, making sure everyone could see how he looked down on the Inquisition. “The pathetic men and women you call soldiers were no match for the Avvar.” He took out a key that dangled on a chain around his neck. “They await rescue that will never come. Try and save them,” he taunted, the key gleaming as it danced on the necklace.

The rogue elf narrowed his eyes. “So be it.”

He wasn’t about to be provoked and rush blindly at the Avvar, however. He turned to the two mages, “Solas, Dalish, now!”

With that exclaim, both mages called forth bolts of magical energy, sending them to rain down on the Avvar. The barbarians screamed as blasts of pure light collided with them, knocking them on the ground.

Nym took out one of his throwing knives and hurled it at the nearest archer. It hit the man right above the bridge of his nose, in a soft spot under the forehead. The knife lodged deep, making the man’s eyes roll to the back of his head, before he fell to the ground with a muffled thud.

An Avvar warrior came charging at him from the flank and before Nym could dodge, the man bashed his metallic shield against his shoulder. The elf was pushed to the ground, feeling numbing pain travel from him elbow to his shoulder. For a moment, he wondered if his arm was broken, but knew he had no time to dwell on it. He quickly rolled backwards and stood back up, flexing his right arm a few times to see if it was still movable. Luckily, it was only bruised. The warrior charged again, yelling out in rage as he rushed at Nym.

The rogue was ready this time. Seeing the shield was too wide to avoid from either side, the elf jumped up. He landed right on the upper rim of the shield, crouching there like a perched raven eyeing its prey. The man gaped in shock and clutched at his sword, but two daggers were already traveling towards his eyes. His helmet did little good as both daggers pierced him through the eyes. The warrior shrieked, letting go of both shield and sword. He fell to the ground, bringing Nym on top of him. The elf brought his daggers out and slashed with both against the man’s neck, ending his screams.

He heard a loud cry from the Iron Bull and turned to see the Qunari locked in a clinch with the Chieftain’s son. The grey giant had two arrows lodged in his right shoulder, but it hardly hindered him from continuing the fight. Grim and Krem were on each side, guarding his flank from the Avvar soldiers. Meanwhile, Sera and Skinner went for the archers, taking them down before they could do any more damage.

That’s when he noticed movement in the corner of his eye. His trained eyes focused on the shadows right beneath the walls and noticed their unnatural motion. It didn’t come from Solas’ fire spells that cast shadows around the hall - this was something else. His eyes narrowed when he noticed the movement slowly drawing closer to Dalish, who was too busy casting protective barriers and healing spells at the Chargers to notice much else. He ran forward and noticed the glint of a blade behind her.

_*I won’t make it.*_ He realized he was too far away to block the blade. He took out a throwing knife instead. _*If I try to warn her, the Stalker will surely attack in the confusion.*_ He had to do this himself. _*Please don’t move,*_ he prayed silently that the elven woman won’t make any sudden movements. Otherwise, his blade would hit her instead. _*Ghilan'nain ghilana mir da'lav!*_ His eyes focused on the target right behind Dalish and he threw the knife while still running towards them. It flew through the air and passed right beside the mage’s ear, making the woman gasp in surprise and turn around. Her eyes widened when she noticed a person behind her, their dagger raised to stab her in the back. They never got the chance, as a throwing knife lodged right between their eyes.

“Dalish,” the elf exclaimed as he finally reached her. He was a bit winded from the previous battle and all the running, his forearm aching even more than before now that it cooled down a little.

“Thanks, that was way too close,” she exhaled. She was a bit pale, tired from casting so many spells all day.

Another roar came from behind them and the elves turned to see the Hand of Korth swinging his maul wildly around him, hitting both the Chargers and his own people and sending them flying. It was as if the bloodlust and rage has gotten into his head and clouded his mind. Bull was holding him off as best he could, but he was slowly being pushed back with every powerful swing the Avvar made. His axe clashed against the warrior’s weapon, blocking his forceful attacks, but it was surprising it didn’t shatter from the blows yet. At this rate, it was simply a matter of time.

“Even if we try to freeze him, he would just break the ice with such strong movements,” Solas called out, glancing at Nym askingly. He wanted the rogue to give them instructions on what to do with the large Avvar.

Nym looked at the raging Avvar. “When I give you the signal, both of you use your freezing spell on him.”

“Understood,” Solas spoke.

“I’ll…use my freezing arrows on him, sure,” Dalish chirped with a sly look.

Nym shook his head at her, but had no time to argue. He rushed back into the fray where the Iron Bull and the Avvar were exchanging blows. The Avvar warrior had several arrows piercing his back, curtesy of Sera, yet he didn’t even falter in his attacks.

“What’s with this guy, he’s way too sturdy,” Sera yelled out in frustration, shooting yet another arrow at the warrior.

Hand of Korth delivered another hard strike at Bull’s axe, which chipped. It was a small nick, but the mercenary captain had enough experience to know the next heavy blow will be sure to shatter the axe’s head. His one good eye noticed movement behind the warrior and realized Lavellan was running towards the man with his two daggers ready. Bull decided to give him a chance. Instead of taking the brunt of the next attack, he dodge the large warhammer, then kicked the man’s knee when he saw the opening. The man growled in pain, stumbling slightly from the blow.

Meanwhile, Nym yelled at Krem who was standing behind the Avvar warrior, while rushing forward, “Boost me with your shield!” The Charger nodded silently, slightly tilting his wooden shield and crouching. The rogue jumped onto it and just as he landed, Krem propelled him up and over his shoulders. Lavellan spun his two daggers in his hands, positioning them for a stab. He flew high above the Avvar, right as the man slouched from Bull’s kick, giving him a perfect opportunity. He brought his weapons down, piercing into the warrior’s back with a loud cry. The Avvar returned with a cry of his own – one of startling pain.

“Mages, now,” Nymrodel yelled, still holding onto his daggers deep in the man’s back.

Solas and Dalish both used an ice spell. Flakes of ice started appearing around the man, collecting and sticking to his body, until the ice completely enveloped him. Layer upon layer of ice started forming on him, engulfing him in it, so even his head was completely covered. Nym quickly released his daggers and jumped down before he too was caught in the magic.

The warrior trashed widely, snarling at everyone around him like a wild beast, trapped and cornered. Already cracks started appearing in the ice and Nym knew it wouldn’t take long until the magical prison broke.

Luckily, Bull wasted no time. “Graaaah!” With a loud yell, he raised his axe over his horned head and brought it down on the ice statue with all his might. The weapon shattered the ice, but cleaved the warrior from his head all the way down to his chest. Bits of ice covered in blood flew in all directions, as what was left of the Avvar fell forward, splattering on the ground.

The Iron Bull exhaled, resting his damaged weapon on his shoulders. The wild gleam in his stormy eye disappeared, replaced by a pleased look. “Now that’s what I call teamwork.”

Nym walked over to the body, or what was left of it, and took his daggers that fell from the back. They were covered in chips of ice and blood from tip to handle. He grimaced in disgust, seeing the blood stain his hands as he sheathed the weapons on his back. Then he walked over to where the Avvar’s head was split in two and rummaged around the remains, until he pulled out a chain with a key on it. He lifted it in the air and smiled with satisfaction. This was accompanied by a loud cheer from his allies.

~…..~

One of the Inquisition soldiers actually hugged him.

When they finally found the room the key belonged to and opened it, they saw a sight of a dozen Inquisition soldiers huddled together in a small damp storage-room the Avvar used as a prison. The soldiers’ gaze instantly turned from fearful to gleeful, their faces beaming when they realized the Herald has come for them.

“Your Worship!” One woman had tears in her eyes as she leaped at Nym to wrap her arms around his neck. “We knew you’d come for us!”

“Oy, Meridith,” her superior barked at her with a warning stare.

She instantly pulled back, realizing what she just did. “Oh, I’m so sorry, that was completely inappropriate,” she apologized. She gave the Herald a sheepish freckled smile, her hazel eyes still wet with relieved tears. 

Behind her came a few chuckles from her comrades. And a few whispers followed, “I knew the Herald would come for us.” “I never doubted him.”

Nym gave the woman a reassuring smile, though there was bead of sweat on his brow – it felt a bit awkward. He wasn’t really used to shems leaping into his arms – unless they were armed and dangerous, maybe. “It’s alright. I’m just glad you are all safe.” And he truly was.

A shadow crossed the troops’ faces. A few of them let their gazes fall down to the ground in discomfort. Meridith spoke first, “Samuel and Thryn didn’t make it…They died during the fight with the Avvar,” she admitted.

Nym’s smile fell as he felt the somber atmosphere that suddenly filled the room, “I’m sorry.”

“They died fighting against the Avvar. Even took a few of those barbarians down with them. They died as heroes,” the captain of the patrol stated, his voice firm so every man and woman in the room could believe it.

“And the Inquisition will honor them as such,” Lavellan returned his serious expression. “We’ll make sure their families know how brave they were,” he promised. He made a mental note to discuss it with Cullen and Josephine later. They’ll know how to give proper commemoration to the fallen soldiers and their families.

He looked over at the exhausted, pale faces of the Inquisition soldiers. Some of them were injured and their comrades helped treat the wounds as best they could. Others appeared sick and riddled with fever, probably from the damp, cold air in the room. But as battered and worn out as they were, they were alive – and every last one of them had a smile on their face because of that fact.

“Let’s get these soldiers home,” Krem suggested, putting a hand on Nymrodel’s shoulder.

The elf nodded as he turned to the Lieutenant of the Chargers, “That’s the plan.”

* * *

 

Glossary:

_Ghilan'nain ghilana mir da'lav_ – Ghilan’nain guide my hand.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was a fun chapter to write. I like writing about the Bull's Chargers. :D I hope you enjoyed the chapter too! Thank you for reading.  
> The next one should be out soon, where they FINALLY begin the talks with the rebel Mages (And that means Dorian~ hehe). :D


	10. Never trust a Vint...unless he has style

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. Yep, the new chapter is already up and this one is pretty long, so enjoy!

 

“So this is Redcliffe Village,” Nym gazed up at the iron gates rising on the horizon.

“It’s smaller than I expected,” Varric noted beside him.

They walked on the cobblestone road, leading their horses by the reins, as the wall of the Redcliffe Village finally appeared before them.

“I heard this village was attacked by the undead ten years ago, during the Blight. It suffered great devastation and losses then. A lot of people still haven’t completely recovered from that time,” Cassandra stated.

The roguish elf stiffened at the mention of the undead. After their excursion to the Fallow Mire, he had enough of walking corpses for a lifetime.

The Iron Bull squinted his one eye as he focused on something in the distance. “Someone’s coming.”

Solas noticed them too and asked in wonder, “A person?”

The group stopped on the road as they saw a woman in armor running towards them in panic. Or rather, it looked like she was running _from_ something. “Help me! Someone help!” As she came close, they could see she wore armor of a guardsman, coming from the direction of Redcliffe Village. She stumbled on the road, practically falling at Nymrodel’s feet. “Help!” There were tears in her eyes as she screamed. 

Lavellan and Cassandra helped her up. They could feel the woman trembling under her armor.

“Calm down and speak, soldier! What is the matter,” the Seeker demanded.

Nym expected Varric to make some comment on Cassandra’s brash behavior, but he didn’t. Glancing at the dwarf, he saw the man staring at something beyond, near the gates.

“D-Demons! Demons at the gates,” the woman barely forced her sentence out, stuttering all the while.

Following Varric’s gaze, Nym saw exactly what the guardswoman was talking about. There was a large rift right outside Redcliffe, with numerous demons spawning out of it. “Din’dhru,” he whispered, his eyes wide in bewilderment. A rift simply _had to_ appear now of all times! Even their horses could feel something unnerving nearby and became restless.  

The rest of his group also noticed it, as they saw the newly-appeared demons bash at the Village gates, trying to break their way in.

“We need to kill those things. _Now_ ,” Bull growled, his dark eye hardening in its gaze.

Nym nodded, “Let’s go.”

The Seeker held the guardswoman by the shoulders, bringing her panicked attention back to herself. “You stay here until it is safe. Mind the horses.”

The woman nodded in relief, thankful to be left out of that battle. She took the reins of the horses, trying to calm the animals down as best she could.

Meanwhile, the Inquisition group charged towards the demons, all of them unsheathing their weapons.  

Prying at the gate bars was a Terror demon, trying to slice at the guards on the other side, when it heard footsteps behind it. It turned its head, opening its maws filled with small, yet sharp teeth, and let out a terrifying screech. Its scream was cut off as a throwing knife came flying, piercing one of its many white eyes. The demon stumbled backwards, but soon recuperated, and bent towards the ground. It tore the Veil with its long claws like it was a thin film of paper, creating a shimmering portal beneath its feet. Then it slid in, disappearing from sight.

“It’s coming,” Nym warned, as he threw another knife at a nearby Shade, before taking both dual daggers into his hands.

“On it!” Right as a large Shade demon came at them, Bull jumped in the air. His sturdy axe fell down, burying itself into the demon’s head with all of Bull’s weight. The ground shook as the giant Qunari landed, pulling his weapon out of the demon that turned into a puddle of black goo.

Beside him, Cassandra bashed her shield into another Great Shade demon, then stepped back to create some space between them, and sliced with her sword at the monster. One slash cut into the Shade’s shoulder, making the thing roar and leap at her with its clawed hands. She pulled back again and raised her shield to block the attack, then pushed at the demon with it and pierced with her sword, stabbing through the Shade’s chest this time. Her rhythm never faltered as she switched between defense and offense. Cassandra’s style was complete opposite of the Iron Bull’s, who mostly used offense to deal with his opponents, yet each warrior was equally deadly in their own way.    

Traveling past them were Bianca’s arrows as Varric stayed behind and rained his vicious bolts at the incoming demons.

Nym ran up to the first Wraith, slashing it with both daggers from each side. He passed right through it as the Wraith soundlessly dispersed and returned back to the rift. He suddenly disappeared in his run, only to reappear a few meters further down the road, nearing another Wraith. He jumped in the air and mid-air, vanished again, avoiding the Wraith’s blast of energy towards him. As he reappeared above the spirit, he landed on it with his two daggers piercing its translucent frame. Analyzing the battlefield, he judged he had some time and sheathed one dagger, freeing his left hand. _*I can weaken the rift.*_ He brought his marked hand towards the fade rift and felt his mark pulse as energy swelled up inside it. With an electric sound, a connection between his palm and the rift was made.

He miscalculated. In his haste to weaken and close the fade rift, he forgot he was left open for the incoming attacks. Normal demons he could easily see coming and dodge, but Terrors were different. He learned that the hard way. Bright green light from beneath blinded him and the elf looked down to see a portal opening underneath him. He gasped, closing his left hand to break the connection with the rift and escape. He stepped back and tried to jump backwards, but something was wrong. He was sure he leaped from the ground, yet he was barely above it. He glanced at his feet and gaped in confusion when he realized his body was floating in the air. It was moving, but slowly. Everything seemed to be in slow-motion.

_*W-what is the meaning of this!? How?*_ Nym watched in bewilderment as his own body refused to move any quicker than this. In horror, he saw the Terror demon slowly peering its horrific head from the portal beneath his feet. Just like him, it was moving in an agonizingly slow pace. _*Ah, at least the Terror isn’t any faster,*_ he mentally sighed in relief.

Yet it seemed the Creators weren’t on his side today. Just as he thought that, everything around him went back to normal. He yelped, unprepared for this, and instead of dodging backwards, he fell on his back, just as the Terror jumped out of its portal.

The rogue elf let out a surprised grunt as he landed on his back, then his breath hitched when he saw the tall Terror towering over him with menace. It was unlike any other Terror demon he fought so far. This one was taller and larger in all aspects, with something like horns branching out of its head. Its dark-green scraggy skin looked thicker than that of other Terrors. By all accounts, this Terror demon appeared stronger and tougher than any he encountered before. It unhinged its long jaws, showing rows of sharp teeth, and let out an ear-piercing screech. Nym’s blood froze at the sight above him as he watched the demon with wide eyes. He gulped, his heart loudly beating in his chest, and he was sure his big eyes mirrored the fright he was feeling inside. _*I won’t make it,*_ he realized, seeing the demon rise its clawed hands above him. His ears were still ringing from its loud scream. _*I’m going to die!*_ Shutting his eyes tightly as if to deny what was happening, he awaited the demon’s piercing claws. 

Yet the blow never came. He opened one eye carefully, peering above him. Then both his eyes widened when he saw the scene before him; the Terror demon was engulfed in ice, its claws only inches from Nym’s chest where it tried to rip his heart out. The elf shuddered, staring at the foreboding ice statue in a daze.

“Young master Nym,” Solas called out in worry, right as he froze the menacing creature with his spell.

“Boss!” A rough voice came from behind the frozen demon as Bull swung his axe, slashing at the Greater Terror and slicing it in half. After blacksmith Harritt smoothed the nicks and sharpened the edges, it was in an even better condition than before. The axe went through the frozen demon like paper, splitting it in two large pieces.

Shattered chips of ice rained on Nym, but the elf couldn’t look away. He never saw the Iron Bull so up-close when fighting before. He saw his bulky arms swinging the giant axe with ease, as if it’s nothing but a feather, his muscles flexing at the strain when he put his strength into the swing. There was a hint of bloodlust in his stormy eye, while his metallic eyepatch glistened in the sun. The impressive horns on the Qunari reminded Nym of those ogre darkspawn he saw the pictures of when he was a child. Yet the whole scene didn’t frighten him. Instead, he was in awe at the sight. It was like watching raw power being unleashed, and it left him breathless for a moment.

As the last of the frozen demon crumbled, the Qunari appeared from behind, resting the weapon on his shoulder and offering Nym his other hand.

The elf breathed in relief. _*I’m saved,*_ he thought perhaps the Creators hadn’t abandoned him, after all. By taking Bull’s hand, he was easily flung up to his feet as if weightless.

“You ok, Boss,” the Qunari asked nonchalantly, as if being almost sliced open by a demon was a normal day for him. Perhaps for the mercenary captain, it truly was.

“That was far too close,” Nym muttered, wiping some sweat off his brow. Scanning the battlefield, he realized all of the demons were defeated. “I need to close the rift,” he exclaimed in sudden realization and ran over to it, letting his mark do the work.

With an explosion, the bright rip in the air closed. He turned back to take his dual dagger from the ground. “I thought I was a goner. Thanks, you two,” he spoke to Bull and Solas while cleaning and sheathing back his weapons.

“More importantly, what in the nug’s ass was that!?” Varric jogged up to the group, staring at the air where the fade rift was a moment ago. Any trace of it or the demons disappeared, as if nothing ever happened.

“Everything just became slower…like trying to fight under water,” the rogue elf tried to explain the best he could.

“I felt the opposite. Suddenly, while fighting, my movements became much faster…but so did the demons,” Cassandra explained.

“I don’t know, but hopefully, someone inside will have the answers,” Nym said darkly as he stared at the iron gates of Redcliffe. He didn’t like how their mission began. They barely arrived and already there were demons and inexplicable fade rifts after them. He didn’t want to think this might’ve all been a trap, but the thought _had_ occurred to him. It didn’t make much sense, though; why would Grand Enchanter Fiona call them all the way here just to lure them into a trap? His musings were interrupted by a cheerful exclaim. 

“You did it!” The guardswoman came running towards them, dragging their horses behind her. “W-who are you people?”

“We are agents of the Inquisition, here to see Grand Enchanter Fiona,” the Seeker explained.

“The Inquisition!? Then…the one who closed that tear in the Veil just now…,” she turned to look at the Dalish elf with pure amazement in her eyes. “The Herald of Andraste! I should’ve known! I…I’ll let you in immediately,” she stumbled over her words, too astonished by the sight of them to speak properly.

Heading towards the gates, she shouted at the guards in the village, “You there, open these gates immediately!” After a while of shuffling and shouting from the other side, the gates of Redcliffe finally opened.

As soon as they stepped inside, more confusion befell them. One of their agents ran up to them, worry and confusion in his eyes. “Your Worship,” he called out. “We announced your arrival, but you should know that no one here was expecting us,” he warned.

Nym blinked in surprise. “No one? Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona,” he asked.

The Inquisition agent shrugged. “If she was, she hasn’t told anyone.”

Frowning, the elf glanced over at his group, but Cassandra and the rest looked just as puzzled.

The agent continued, “We’ve arranged use of the tavern ‘Gull and Lantern’ for the negotiations.”

Just as the man was finishing his report, an elven mage ran up to them. “Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies! Magister Alexius is in charge now, but hasn’t yet arrived. He’s expected shortly,” he explained. The elf smiled at them, “You could speak to the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime.”

The group looked at each other again, as if having a mental conversation between themselves.

“Did he just say… _Magister_ Alexius,” Iron Bull mumbled in a low snarl. He wore a disconcerting expression on his face.

“I have a bad feeling about all this,” Varric muttered beside him.

Lavellan just shook his head and followed the other elf. He had no idea what was going on anymore, but he was determined to find out.

~…..~

“Hello, agents of the Inquisition.”

Former Grand Enchanter Fiona greeted them as if seeing Nymrodel and his group for the first time.

“What has brought you to Redcliffe?”

Cassandra was the first one to step forward. “Is this some kind of joke? _You_ called us here!” As usual, she had no patience for games or trickery, and this reeked of both.

Lavellan put a hand on her shoulder to calm her down. “Grand Enchanter, you invited us here when we met at Val Royeaux,” he explained calmly to the mage. He needed to stay composed.

Yet Fiona’s confused expression only deepened. “You must be mistaken. I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave.”

“Well then we met your twin, because the person who invited us definitely looked like you,” Varric added.

“Something isn’t right here,” Nym muttered, his gaze hardening in distrust. He could feel something was wrong; his ears were itching. It always happened when his instincts were warning him.

“I…don’t know what to say. Now that you mention it…I feel a bit strange,” the mage woman frowned. There was a puzzled expression on her face, as if she was genuinely as confused as the rest of them.

“Well it doesn’t change the fact that we’re here now. We can still continue the negotiations, right,” Bull asked. His sharp eye was slowly scouring the room around them, careful to notice any hidden traps or enemies lying in wait.

“ _If_ the mages are willing to negotiate at all,” Solas added, directing a questioning look at Fiona.

She looked troubled more than anything. “Whoever… _whatever_ brought you here, the situation has changed. I am no longer in charge, so I cannot help you. The free mages have already pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium. I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.”

Nym gaped, as did the rest of his group. No matter how dire things were for the mages, there had to be a better way. “Pledged into service?” He spat the words in disgust. “So what, you…willingly became their slaves!?” As a Dalish, he was taught to value his freedom and pride as an elf above all. _‘Never again shall we submit -_ a phrase that every Dalish child knew the meaning of, and the history behind it. For someone to willingly give away their freedom was incomprehensible to him.

“Do you not fear all of Thedas turning against you?” Cassandra was equally bewildered by Fiona’s proclamation.

The others didn’t respond any better to the news.

“I understand that you are afraid, but you deserve better than slavery to Tevinter,” Solas shook his head as if he was disappointed.

“This right here is why you can’t trust mages,” the Qunari growled, glaring at the Grand Enchanter.

Even Varric clicked his tongue in annoyance, “Andraste’s ass….I’m trying to think of a single worst thing you could have done…and I’ve got nothing.”

“I don’t understand. You rebelled because you wanted your freedom from the Circle, yes? Only to give it away to Tevinter magisters,” Nym asked, completely baffled.

Fiona gazed down sadly, a glint of guilt in her eyes. She shook her head, biting her lower lip in frustration. “You don’t understand…All hope of peace died with Justinia. This _bargain_ with Tevinter would not have been my first choice, but we _had_ no choice.” Her fists clenched at her side. “We are losing this war! I had to save as many of my people as I could.”

Nym scowled, his confusion turning into anger. He opened his mouth to respond when the doors of the tavern suddenly flew open. His hands instantly went for his weapons, just in case. The others of his group did the same, ready for anything.

Two more people came in, both dressed in Tevinter robes. His eyes narrowed, suspicious of the newcomers.

The older man had a smile on his face and his disposition wasn’t threatening. “Welcome my friends! I apologize for not meeting with you earlier.” He strode in with authority, as if he owned this entire room. A young man with short black hair wordlessly followed on his heels.

Nym relaxed a bit, seeing the man meant them no immediate harm. Yet he noticed Fiona stiffen, in contrast. Even as she introduced him, she glowered at the older man, “Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius.”

The man walked over to them, taking his time as he examined Nymrodel and his group. “The Southern mages are under _my_ command,” he started. His gaze stopped on the rogue elf and he pierced him with his eyes filled with interest, “And _you_ are the survivor, yes?” He closely sized the elf, ignoring everyone else in the room. “The one from the fade? Interesting…” 

Nym had to suppress a shiver. Something about how this man looked at him, and the way he talked - his words laced with some dark interest he couldn’t quite put a finger on…it unsettled him. He swallowed hard, but kept a dubious glare on the magister. “I have to admit, I’m quite stumped by this sudden alliance. When exactly did this happen?”

The Magister’s expression soften. “When the Conclave was destroyed, these poor souls faced the brutality of the Templars, who rushed to attack them,” he explained in an overly dramatic, pained voice. Nym didn’t buy it for an instant. Smiling at Fiona, the Magister continued, “It could only be by divine providence that I arrived when I did.”

Even she looked skeptical of his explanation, “It was certainly…very timely.” 

“And now you will take these mages under your wing out of the kindness of your heart,” Bull asked in a sardonic tone, glaring at the Magister.

Alexius shook his head. “Our Southern brethren have no legal status in the Imperium. As they were not born citizens of Tevinter, they must work for a period of ten years before gaining full rights. As their _protector_ , I shall oversee their work for the Imperium. For the moment, they are a considerable expense. However, after they are properly trained, they will join our legion,” he explained, a sly smile widening on his lips.

Fiona gasped. “You said not all my people would be military! There are children among us! Those not suited,” she argued, but was cut off by him.

“And one day I’m sure they will all be productive citizens of the Imperium…when their debts are paid,” he emphasized the last part.

Nym’s jaw clenched, his glare darkening. “So you just want to use them as cannon fodder in your war against the Qunari?”

“Great…more mages to bloody Seheron. That’s just _fucking_ wonderful,” Bull spat out bitterly.

Snarling at the Tevinter Magister, Cassandra stepped forward. “Where is Arl Teagan in all this? He did not abandon Redcliffe when it was under siege during the Blight, he would not do so now,” she demanded an answer.    

“The Arl of Redcliffe and his men left the village. There were tensions growing and I did not want an incident,” Gereon answered, rather vaguely.

_*So he has the power to throw out the Arl out of his own lands,*_ Nymrodel thought with a frown. _*Who is this man?*_ Yet there were more pressing matters to attend to. As much as this Tevinter Magister was suspicious and unwelcome, he was now the Inquisition’s only chance to acquire the mages they needed for the Breach. “Fine then, Magister Alexius…Let’s get straight to the point. The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach in the sky. Are you willing to help us?” He knew he should behave more diplomatically, but he couldn’t erase the scowl from his face.

Alexius laughed, “Right to business! I understand, of course.” He nodded and gestured for Lavellan to follow him. They sat at a nearby table, leaving both groups aside so they could talk privately. The Magister turned over to the young man who was yet to speak, “Felix, would you send for a scribe, please.” He turned back to the elf, “Pardon my manners. This is my son, Felix.” The young man bowed low in the waist and Nymrodel nodded his head in a greeting. Still without uttering a single word, Felix left the room to obey his father’s instructions.

“I am not surprised that you are here,” the mage continued. “Closing the Breach is no small feat. There is no telling how many mages you would need for such an endeavor. Ambitious, indeed,” the man smirked.

The rogue shrugged, his face remaining blank. “What can I say; one can hardly think small when there’s a giant demon-spitting hole in the sky.” His blue eyes became a bit sharper as he continued, examining the human carefully, “More importantly, are you willing to help us or not?” He wanted the man to stop dancing around and give a direct answer.

Alexius chuckled, “There would have to be-” He abruptly stopped when he saw his son limping over.

Instantly noticing something was amiss, Nym leapt to the young man’s aid as the other started falling. He caught Felix by the shoulders, steadying him on his wobbly feet. “Are you alright!?”

“Felix,” his father exclaimed with fright written all over his face. For the first time, his expression looked genuine. All the vagueness and slyness from earlier were gone now.

Nym blinked when he felt the young man slip a piece of paper in his hand. In the next moment, he moved away from the elf, apologizing. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive my clumsiness, my lord.”

“Are you alright?” Alexius was already by his son’s side, holding his shoulder just in case the other would stumble again.

“I’m alright, father,” Felix reassured him, though the other didn’t seem convinced.

“Come, Felix. I’ll get your powders.” He was already on his way before he glanced back at Nym, as if forgetting he was there for a moment. “Please excuse me friends, we will have to continue this another time,” he proclaimed.

“I don’t mean to trouble anyone,” Felix started, but his father wouldn’t listen.

Alexius turned back to Nymrodel, “I will send word to the Inquisition, so we can conclude this business at a later date.”

Nym watched Alexius and his men move out, with Fiona following close behind with her head fallen. She already looked like some servant of his and they didn’t even leave for Tevinter yet.

His group surrounded him, all with their own comments and opinions on the whole matter, and none of them positive. Nym made sure all the Tevinters were out of the tavern before he finally opened the piece of paper in his hand.

“What’s that,” Varric asked.

“Alexius’ son slipped me this in secret,” he explained, before reading it out loud, “Come to the Chantry. You are in danger.” He looked back at his group in wonder.

Cassandra scowled, “It could be a trap.”

“Or someone trying to warn us,” he countered. They also suspected the Red Jenny letters were a trap, yet in the end, they gained new allies.

“I would say it doesn’t hurt to check it out, but it might,” Varric grumbled.

Nym smiled at him, “We’ll just have to be careful then. It’s the only lead we have.”

“And if it’s a trap, we’ll just kill our way out of it,” Bull added matter-of-factly. He wouldn’t mind killing a couple of Vints.

The elf chuckled at the big Qunari, “See. That’s the spirit.”

~…..~

As soon as they entered the Chantry, a bright green light blinded them.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Nym exclaimed. “ _Another_ rift!?”

In the middle of the Chantry hall, a large fade rift crackled, constantly changing shape and form through fluid motions. Demons were already spawning out of it, and they crowded around a single person in the room; a mage.

A man with tanned skin and the most ridiculous mustache Nym has ever seen, was fighting off the demons with his staff; burning Wraiths and sending blasts of energy at the demons. As the creatures encircled him, he summoned a strong blast of energy all around himself, flinging the monsters away from him. Nym had to admit the mage was doing quite well even on his own.

That is until a great roar echoed throughout the hall. A pool of lava appeared before the mage, rising high above and changing form, until finally a large Rage demon was towering over him. It roared again, growling in anger it represented.

Nymrodel reacted out of instinct, more than anything. He didn’t know who this man was, or whether he was friend or foe, but he knew he couldn’t take on that Rage demon by himself. But how do you fight something that is entirely made of lava and fire? Luckily, he had one idea.

“Solas, give me some of that ice magic,” he grinned, unsheathing his daggers and charging at the enraged demon.

“Certainly,” the elven mage called out and summoned his ice to envelop the creature. The creature didn’t freeze, since its hot body melted the ice quickly, but the magic slowly started to cool it down. Soon, the demon’s body changed into a charred black form, as its fires were momentarily extinguished. Its texture became like lava when it finally cools down, just in time for Nym to appear at the demon’s flank, and stab both his dual daggers deep into its fiery body. He repositioned his weapons and ripped through the demon, slicing through with each blade. New hot lava spilled from the demon’s wound like blood, and it roared in rage once more.

Feeling a familiar warm light around his body, he realized the mysterious mage has cast a barrier on both of them. He saw the demon attack with both arms, but the mage used his staff like a sword, casting some magic that made the crystal at the end razor sharp, then sliced at the Rage demon with it. He dodged one arm and sliced off the other. The arm fell to the ground and turned into blazing lava, spluttering at both of them. It would have scorched them if not for the magical barrier.

The rogue clicked his tongue in annoyance. Fighting with dual daggers was messy work. If he wasn’t careful, he would just splash blazing lava on himself and the mage with every slash. Still, the barrier could offer some protection against it. He glanced to his side at the human mage. _*Between him casting barriers and Solas using his ice to cool the lava down, we shouldn’t have much problem killing this thing,*_ he thought. He caught movement with the corner of his eye and jumped back, right in time to dodge another attack from the Rage demon. It spat fire at them this time, burning everything in its path and leaving charred marks on the ground. As they both dodged, it hit a Shade that found itself in the way and burned it to ash, instead.

The mustached mage laughed, “This thing might even help us.”

Nym grinned, but there was a nervous glint in his eyes when he saw the Rage demon roar and regenerate its missing arm. Was it just him, or did it also grow bigger? “Let’s not get our hopes up too soon,” he answered.

“Spoilsport,” the mage chuckled.

But the elf noticed another thing. That Shade before seemed as if it was trapped and couldn’t move in time. Or rather, it was too slow to move. He had a bad feeling about it; the same feeling he had while fighting in front of the Redcliffe gates. _*Don’t tell me it’s happening again?*_

He crouched low and felt heat on his neck as the demon tried to slash at him with its burning, clawed hands. He slipped behind the monster quickly, waiting for Solas to cool it down with his magic again.

At the same time he saw the blazing lava turn cold and hard again, he felt the barrier back on him. _*Now,*_ he waited for the opportune moment _._ The elf’s expression darkened and he repositioned his dual daggers in his hands. _*I need to deal as much damage to it as I can,*_ he concluded, knowing it was a race against time. Solas’s spell won’t hold for long. With a cry, Nym started moving his body at lightning speed, slicing and piercing at the hardened body. Chips and splutters of lava fell everywhere, even on him, but the barrier kept him safe from burns. He could hear the fiery pieces sizzle against the barrier. He continued, each slash digging further into the Rage demon, until it was riddled with deep cuts. He could see some of the cuts closing with more lava and quickened his pace even more, not giving it time to regenerate. But the demon was getting smaller. Suddenly Nym realized, _*It has to use its own body to fill its wounds!*_ The demon wasn’t really regenerating, but transferring its half-liquid form to close its wounds, using up the lava. And the more lava the demon used to replace the missing parts, the smaller it became. Sometimes, it got these bursts of rage that made it grow, probably collecting more energy from the Fade, but it couldn’t do it constantly. Soon, it was no larger than a human warrior.

Nym’s barrier disappeared and he jumped back to avoid getting burned by the spilling lava. That’s when Cassandra rushed in with her shield high up. She sliced horizontally at the demon, her sword passing through with ease, then slammed her shield in what was left of its body. The Rage demon spilled apart, its body splashing all over the ground and finally cooling down into an ashen state.

“Good,” the tanned mage exclaimed. “Now help me close this, would you?” He turned his gaze to Nym, evidently already knowing who the elf was and what he was capable of.

“Gladly,” the rogue sheathed back one dagger and opened his left palm towards the large rift. There were still some demons around, but he trusted his comrades to protect his flank as he worked on closing the rift. He could feel the familiar pull towards the rift and hear the sound of it brimming with power, as if it was about to overload and explode, which is exactly what happened. Pieces of the fade scattered around them and most of the demons dispersed into green mist. The others were finished off by his friends.

Feeling the familiar weakness that always hit him after closing one of those things, he rubbed his weary eyes. He realized it took him less time to close a rift now and he could weaken it more easily, but it still took a toll on his body every time.

“Fascinating,” the mysterious man eyed him. But it wasn’t the same sinister, piercing stare that he got from Alexius earlier. “How does that work exactly,” he asked, tilting his head.

The rogue was a bit stumped. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure either. Solas could probably explain it better than him.

Seeing Nym’s hesitant expression, the mage laughed. “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers, and _boom_! It closes.” He wiggled his own fingers for emphasis.

_*Well, I wouldn’t say it’s_ that _easy,*_ the elf mused. _*More importantly….*_ He looked at the mage human carefully. “And you are…?”  

“Ah!” The mage exclaimed as if only now remembering introductions were in order. “Getting ahead of myself again, I see.” He gave a small bow as he smiled at the Herald, “Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

“Another Tevinter,” Cassandra gave him a disgruntled look, putting her shield back in place. “Be cautious with this one,” she warned.

Iron Bull didn’t look pleased either, “The pretty ones are always the worst.”

Nym blinked and gazed up at the Qunari with one eyebrow raised in wonder. He didn’t expect _that_ to come out of his mouth.   

Dorian chuckled in amusement. He hardly seemed affected by their words, “Suspicious friends you have here.”

Nym shrugged, “In their defense, we’ve had a bit too much trouble with Tevinters recently.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Dorian sighed, a bit more serious now. “Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable.”

“And you are betraying him because…,” Varric asked. Even he was skeptical of the man.

“Alexius _was_ my mentor, meaning he isn’t any longer,” he shook his head. “Listen, you must know there’s danger, that should be obvious by now. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the rebel mages right from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right,” he narrowed his eyes. “To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.”

Solas was the first to answer, “That is fascinating, if true…and almost certainly dangerous.”

“How is that even possible? I don’t understand, are you telling me he…used time magic to get here after the Devine died,” Nym asked in bewilderment.

The Tevinter nodded, “Exactly. The rift you closed here...It twisted time around itself; sped some things up and slowed others down,” he confirmed Nym’s theory from before.

“Just like the one at the gates earlier today,” Varric remembered.

 “Yes, and soon, there will be even _more_ like it. They’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable and it’s unrevealing the world,” the mage hissed in anger.

Lavellan gulped. Demons entering the world from the Fade, a giant tear in the sky and now _this_ – some crazy Magister practicing even crazier magic. This was the last thing they needed.

“You’re asking us to simply believe you? Do you have any evidence,” Cassandra intervened.

Dorian frowned, “I know what I’m talking about. I helped him develop this magic. When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work.” He looked like he just ate something sour as he remembered helping his mentor work on such dangerous magic. The man sighed, “What I don’t understand is why he is doing it. Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

“Gaining new soldiers for the Tevinter war efforts against the Qunari,” the Iron Bull responded. “Seems pretty plausible to me.”

“That is not it,” a new voice startled them all and they turned to see none other than Alexius’ own son.

Dorian was the only one who didn’t seem surprised by the sudden visit. “Took you long enough,” he smiled at Felix. “Is he getting suspicious?”

 The young man shook his head and smirked, “No. But I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d be fussing over me all day.”

Now that Nym remembered, it was Felix who slipped him the note in the first place. He was expecting him to be at the Chantry, not Dorian. “You’re plotting against your own father,” the elf dubiously frowned. It wasn’t an accusation, but it didn’t make much sense either.

Felix scowled. Not at the elf, but the whole complicated situation. “My father has joined a cult, Tevinter Supremacists. They call themselves Venatori. I love my country and I love my father, but this? Time magic and rifts? What he’s doing now is madness! And I can tell you one thing,” he turned to face Nymrodel, “Whatever he’s done, he has done it to get to _you_.”

The elf was taken aback. “Me?! What could they possibly want with me?”

“They’re obsessed with you. I don’t know why. Perhaps because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes and got out of the Fade alive,” Felix explained with a shrug. He wasn’t sure about it either.

“So now I’m wanted by some crazy cultists? My life just keeps getting better and better,” the elf deadpanned. He was so tired and fed up with it all.   

“Don’t worry, Snow. They’ll have to go through Bianca and me first, if they want you.” Varric stepped beside his friend, rising his trusted crossbow to make a point.

He smiled at the dwarf. At least he wasn’t alone in all this; that thought brought him some comfort. He looked back at Felix, “So what now? I suspect asking them to ‘please leave me alone’ won’t work.”

The Tevinters chuckled. “No. But not all is as bleak as it seems,” Dorian answered. “You know you’re his target. Expecting the trap is the first step to turning things to your advantage,” he explained. “I can’t stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here and I want to keep it that way for now. But whenever you are ready to deal with him, I want to be there,” he narrowed his eyes dangerously. The two obviously had some unfinished business with each other.

Nym thought for a while, mulling over if his idea was really a good one, then decided to throw it out there anyway, “You could join us in Haven. You’d be safe there and we can work on dealing with Alexius together,” he shrugged. It seemed like the most logical course.

Dorian hummed in interest. “That is not the worst idea,” he muttered. “Indeed, I believe I will join you then.”

This time, not only Cassandra, but also Bull, made a disgruntled noise. Neither of them liked the idea.

The other Tevinter spoke, “I should get back to father before he notices I’m gone. He worries too easily.” He turned to leave when his friend called out to him.

“Felix? Try not to get yourself killed,” Dorian warned.

The young man glanced at him over his shoulder and smiled sadly, “There are worst things than dying, Dorian.”

Nym watched Felix leave in silence before his thoughts were broken by a gauntleted hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Cassandra staring back at him. “We should return to Haven and discuss things with Leliana and the others.”

He nodded, then realized he was still clutching one of his dual daggers in his hand. Relaxing, he sheathed it into the scabbard on his back.

Dorian glanced up at the large Qunari standing beside him. “It’s going to be an interesting trip, no doubt.”

~…..~

It was on their way out of Redcliffe that Nym first heard the whispers. He wasn’t sure was it because of his elven hearing or because they sounded so familiar, but he instantly latched on to the noises and followed them. The whispers led them to an abandoned storage house, but it was locked.

“Why lock an abandoned house,” Dorian asked as the group curiously followed their rogue comrade.

That is exactly what Nym wanted to find out. He knelt in front of the locked doors and took out his lock-picking kit. One more thing he was glad Ronas taught him.

“Nym, I feel the same presence behind these doors as from those peculiar shards we uncovered,” Solas whispered to him. The elven mage has been studying them relentlessly ever since they found the first one in the Hinterlands. Yet they still had no idea what their purpose was.

Nym went to work on the lock. He used one pick to keep the mechanism in place and used another to move the lock. Careful not to break his lockpicks, he moved one with a steady hand. Finally he heard a click and the wooden doors opened. Glancing at his group, who waited patiently behind him, he slowly opened the doors.

The whispers that were barely audible before, became so loud and invasive that Nymrodel couldn’t hear his own thoughts. He feared he would go crazy as he stepped further inside, quickly putting hands over his ears as he grimaced in pain. It was too much. The noise was overwhelming.

“What’s going on,” he yelled over the voices, yet he felt like his own voice was overpowered by the whispers. Then he caught on the sight in front of him and stopped dead in his tracks. Momentarily, the whispering voices were forgotten as he stared at the large cupboard before him. Except, instead of books, the wooden shelves were filled with skulls. Human skulls.

His eyes went wide as he stared at the gruesome sight before him. “What….is this,” he whispered in shock.

“Nym,” Solas called out and the other elf turned to see the mage staring at a large book on a stand. The book had some diagrams he couldn’t decipher, and neither could he read the foreign text inside. The only thing he did recognize were the drawings of the mysterious blue shards they found and the Ocularum, a strange device made from a skull that could reveal them.

Dorian pushed forward and read from the book. So it was in Tevene, Nym realized. He could see his tanned face pale in shock, before his expression turned to anger. “The skulls…are from tranquil mages,” he started dryly. “It seems the Tevinters…no, the Venatori, are using the skulls to create arcane devices called the Ocularum. With them, they can find these mystic shards. The shards are used as keys. The book says they can open a certain temple in the Forbidden Oasis,” Dorian translated the notes left on the margins of the thick book.

Nym grew pale, his voice failing him. He felt sick to his stomach. “They killed the Tranquil…and are using their skulls,” he asked, shaken to the core.

“I wondered what happened to the Tranquil after the mage rebellion. So many went missing…Now I understand,” Cassandra commented sadly.

“Andraste’s tits…,” it was all Varric could think to say to such a gruesome end.

“Just one more reason to hate these Vint bastards,” Bull commented darkly, in a low tone.

“ _Venatori_ ,” Dorian corrected him, almost snarling. “Not all of us are like that.”

“Now is _not_ the time, you two,” Cassandra stopped the argument before it could start. She was not in the mood.

Nym squeezed his eyes shut, his head throbbing from the countless whispers in his head. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t even stand to look at those skulls, staring back at him with hollow eyes. Were those whispers the last words of every Tranquil slaughtered and used by the Venatori mages? He felt his skin crawl at the thought. He couldn’t stay here any longer.

He turned around and pushed through the group, desperately trying to get some air as he stepped outside. As soon as he did, the whispers in his head softened until they were barely audible.

“You alright, Snow?” Varric went after him and put a gentle hand on his back.

Now that he was getting his senses back, he could feel his disgust turning into anger. He gritted his teeth, his fists clenching at his sides. “That wasn’t war…They didn’t die for the rebellion or Templar cause or anything…they were just senselessly slaughtered to be used as tools,” he spoke though gritted teeth, trying to keep himself from yelling. “The Tranquil can’t even fight back; that’s what Minaeve said. And now they can’t even rest in peace after death!” He could feel his nails digging into his palms as he balled his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Solas came to him. “But perhaps we can use this knowledge and go see this Temple they speak off,” he suggested.

The other elf snapped his head towards him, his eyes filled with shocked repulsion, “You want to _use_ the Ocularum and the shards? Even after knowing what they are,” he asked in bewilderment.

The apostate scowled, feeling offended that Nym was staring at him with such disdain. “We cannot bring the Tranquil back…What happened to them was a tragic fate, but it is too late to do anything about it. However, we can stop the Venatori from getting their hands on whatever artifact they believe they will find in that Temple. If we don’t, they could be that much stronger for it,” he explained, keeping a level head despite what he just saw in that storeroom. Nym sometimes wished he could be as collected as him.

“Your mage friend is right,” Dorian interfered. “We must stop these Venatori at all costs,” he scrunched his nose in disgust just thinking about them.

Nym gulped painfully. The voices were leaving him now and he was slowly getting his anger back in check. “Alright, I’ll talk to Leliana…maybe she could send some agents there to investigate. And scout Harding could lead a team,” he started planning already, switching to his more professional self he used during War Council meetings.

“Personally, however, I would like to deal with this Alexius business first,” Dorian scowled.

The rogue nodded, “Me too.” Straightening up, he took a deep breath. “But from now on, if we see a Tranquil among the mages, we’ll warn them of the Venatori or invite them to safety in Haven. The Inquisition should protect those who can’t protect themselves,” he declared. 

“The Venatori couldn’t have hunted down all of them. We will protect those who remain,” Cassandra promised.

~…..~

“So these Venatori might be behind the Devine’s death and even the tear in the sky,” Cullen asked, his eyebrows furrowing. He’s done nothing but frowning ever since they summoned the War Council and Nymrodel gave his report to the advisors.

It took them four days to get back to Haven on horseback, and by the time they arrived, a letter from Alexius had already reached them by a raven. It invited Lavellan personally to Redcliffe Castle, for the continuation of their negotiations. By now, however, Nymrodel and his advisors already knew it was all a trap.

“Gereon Alexius has all but taken over Redcliffe, even using the castle as his own headquarters,” Josephine added, looking no happier than their Commander.

“Then we must take Redcliffe back from them.” Cassandra slammed her fist on the War table. “We cannot allow Redcliffe to fall to the hands of a Magister.”

Cullen clicked his tongue in frustration. “We don’t have the manpower to take the castle! Either we find another way in or give up this nonsense and go find the Templars!” He still hadn’t given up on his brethren, but the others weren’t so sure about the Templars helping them.

“And leave a foreign power on our doorstep? Alexius has to be dealt with,” the spymaster narrowed her eyes.

“Plus, the Templars haven’t even been in contact with us. Nobody knows if they are willing to help the Inquisition….especially after what we saw of Lord Seeker Lucius,” Nym sighed. He’s been listening to his advisors bicker in circles for what seemed like an eternity, yet they were no closer to a solution. He rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming.

Cullen shook his head, “Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. It has repelled thousands of assaults.” He turned to Nym, “If you go in there, you will die in the Magister’s trap, and we will lose the only means of closing these rifts. I will not allow it!”

The elf scowled in irate, _*Won’t allow it?*_ He felt like he was back at the beginning when he was being treated like a prisoner, his fate decided by others. He didn’t want to go back to that time, ever again. He took a deep breath to calm his raging headache - it was getting worse. “I know you are worried and the risks are great, but Leliana and Cassandra are right. We can’t just leave Redcliffe in this Tevinter’s hands. He already has the mages we need for the Breach and now Redcliffe Castle? Not to mention what they did to the Tranquil there…,” he trailed off when he noticed his voice was rising in anger. Cassandra gave him a sympathetic look.

“Even if we could assault the Castle, it would be for naught. An “Orlesian” army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war! Our hands are tied,” their ambassador stated.

“But the Magister-,” The Seeker started, only to be cut off by Cullen.

“Has outplayed us!”

Nym bit his lip in thought, then shook his head. “No. There has to be another way….We don’t need a whole army, we just need another entrance. Something other than the front gates. A sewer or a water line… _anything_.” He was becoming desperate. By now, he wouldn’t mind swimming through the Castle’s waste, if it would bore a solution.

As if an answer to his prayers, Leliana’s voice came, “There _is_ another way in.” He turned his hopeful gaze to her as she explained, “A secret passage from the Castle; an old escape route for the family. It is too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through.”

“And if we keep the Magister’s attention elsewhere for a time, they can slip right in unnoticed,” Nym’s face lightened up for the first time since they opened the meeting.

“A distraction! Perhaps the envoy Alexius is expecting,” Josephine joined in.

Finally they were working as a team, instead of arguing among themselves.  

Nym nodded, “It’s risky, but Alexius doesn’t have a whole army at his disposal either. All we need is to take them by surprise and break their defenses from the inside.”

Sighing, Cullen shook his head, “Don’t make it sound so easy.”

As if on cue, the doors slammed open, and Dorian strutted in with all the authority of a nobleman, “Fortunately, you’ll have help.”

Everyone in the War room stared at him in wonder. The man knew how to make an entrance.

“Commander, I couldn’t stop him. This man says he has information about the Magister and his methods,” the soldier saluted, glancing apologetically at Cullen.   

“You are the one who came back with the Herald and his group,” Leliana recognized the Tevinter. Since they immediately summoned the War Council on Nym’s return, they didn’t have time to question their new guest who the Herald brought back from Redcliffe. All Nym said was that the mage had some insight in Alexius’ plans and that he wanted to help. She hardly trusted a mage from Tevinter though, so she already sent her agents to investigate this Dorian Pavus from Minrathous. 

Dorian walked in like he owned the room and smiled at Nym in a greeting, stopping beside him.

Cullen furrowed his thick eyebrows again. “Why would we trust you, a Tevinter mage?”

“And a former student of Gereon Alexius himself,” Leliana added. Her agents have already uncovered a few things and informed her beforehand. Nym was always surprised at how efficiently and quickly her spies worked.

“You have little choice, I’m afraid. Your spies will never get passed Alexius’ magic without my help. So if you’re going after him, I’m coming along,” Dorian was insistent to deal with the Magister personally. “Since you don’t really have a lot of options, I suggest you take the help where it is offered,” he added wryly.

“He’s got us there,” Nym shrugged.

Cullen turned to the young elf, “The plan puts you in the most danger. We cannot in clear conscience order you to do this.”

 All eyes were on Nym as they awaited his answer. They didn’t have to wait for long. They didn’t have to _order_ him to do anything. The elf smirked, his eyes gleaming with determination, “You already know my answer. We’ve come this far, no turning back now. We’re going to deal with this Magister, kick his ass out of Redcliffe and get the mages to close that damn tear in the sky,” he grinned dangerously. _*And then hopefully all this will end and I’ll be able to go back home to my Clan,*_ he comforted himself.

“I like your enthusiasm,” Dorian chuckled.

The advisors exchanged glances, then nodded back to Lavellan. “Understood,” Cullen saluted.

“Then we better get to work….we have a lot of planning to do,” Leliana smirked.

~……~

As soon as he was out of the Chantry, Nymrodel stretched his arms high in the air, feeling a strain in his shoulders. They were finally done with the meeting, but he felt no more relieved because of it. There was still a burden weighing on his back, and he doubted it would go away before they finally conclude this business with the Magister. Or perhaps, his stress won’t disappear as long as there is a breach in the sky.

He sighed and gazed up at the vast sky where the cloudy blue was marred with a hue of green light, reflected from the Breach. It was hard to tell the time of day when the sky always looked so distorted from the large gates into the Beyond.

“Well that went better than expected,” a voice next to him brought him out of his daze. Nym glanced to his side and saw Dorian. “Now do tell, where one can have a decent bath around here?”

The elf smiled, “Follow me.”

As they walked through Haven together, curious eyes of the villagers following their movement. They greeted the Herald happily, some refugees even bowing their heads while soldiers saluted him. But as soon as their gaze turned to the Tevinter mage, their expressions would change into dark scowls, piercing the man with their doubtful eyes.

Dorian sighed, ignoring the glowers aimed at him. “News really travel fast in these small towns. They already know I’m from Tevinter and hate me. I went to the smithy earlier and the blacksmith spat on the ground when he saw me.”

Nym smiled sheepishly, a bead of sweat on his brow. He looked a bit guilty as if he was responsible for the people’s bad treatment of the mage. “Don’t let it bother you. They looked at me the same way when I first got here…some people still do. If you really want to help the Inquisition, I’m sure they will see it too.”

Dorian glanced at the elf curiously, “They hated _you_? But you are the revered Herald of Andraste! The savior sent by the Maker himself,” he exclaimed a bit too dramatically, a slight mocking undertone in his voice.

Nym grimaced at the title and had to fight rolling his eyes at Dorian’s display. “ _Now_ , they think that. When I first came here I was Cassandra’s prisoner, charged for killing the Devine. Plus, I’m a Dalish elf…not really Maker-sent in most humans’ eyes. You can imagine how much controversy that brought.”

The Tevinter scowled, “Yes, trust me, I know all about being thought of as a stereotype. Apparently, we are all evil blood mages who sacrifice children and virgins at alters, to you people.”

“Not at all. I hear you sacrifice elven slaves too,” the elf responded with a snide smirk, getting some revenge for Dorian’s own mocking words about him.

The mage rolled his eyes, “Who would think the Herald of Andraste would use such sarcasm.”

“Indeed, who would,” Nym muttered, his smirk still present. He certainly didn’t care that he didn’t fall into the image of Andraste’s Prophet, but why would he? He didn’t think himself Her herald anyway.

“So you don’t believe you’re chosen by the Maker?” Dorian asked carefully, eyeing the other man.

Nym snorted. He couldn’t contain himself. Then his expression became more troubled as he thought about it seriously. Dorian had no idea how much he wanted an answer to that very question, that has been bothering him all this time. “I don’t know…That’s hard to swallow, don’t you think?” He continued before waiting for an answer, “To begin with, the Dalish believe in our own gods. If I was chosen, wouldn’t it be by the Creators? Why would a human god choose a Dalish elf as his representative?”

“Maybe He’s trying to make a point? I hear gods do that sometimes,” Dorian commented half-serious.

Nym chuckled, before shaking his head. “In the end, does it matter? The Breach is real. I don’t know if it was done by gods, or magic, or something else…but faith alone won’t close it. I have the mark and with it, the power to close the rifts. I don’t know where it came from, but as long as it gives me the power to save this world, does anything else really matter?”

The mage hummed in thought, “That’s a very practical way of thinking about it.”

He shrugged. “We Dalish are all about the practical,” he grinned at the mage. “Instead of sitting and idly contemplating my fate or whether I am the Chosen or not, I would rather just use this mark and fix the sky.” He opened his left palm, looking at the glowing green magic on his hand. It was barely visible now, shimmering gently in a faint light. Completely different from when a rift was nearby and it would flare up as if reacting to it.

Dorian smiled as he looked at the elf beside him, “You’re quite different from what I pictured. A lot less…holier-than-thou attitude than I was expecting.”

“I could say the same thing about you, Tevinter. You haven’t sacrificed a single servant in a blood magic ritual on our way here,” Nym jokingly responded, giving the man a devilish smirk.

 Dorian laughed out loud. “I like you more and more, Lavellan.” Still snickering, the man continued, “You know, if you asked any mage in Tevinter whether there is use of blood magic there, they would say “Not at all!” and be convincingly offended by the notion. Of course, what _we_ consider blood magic is different than what the Southerners abhor.”

Nym raised an eyebrow, “What does that mean?”

“Using your blood or that of a willing participant; what’s the harm, no? The problem is, what is allowed is not enough. It’s _never_ enough. Such mages always need _more_ power so they go too far. That is where sacrifices come into play,” he wrinkled his nose in disgust, obviously not approving of such acts either.

The young elf narrowed his eyes at him, “So what about you? How far are you willing to go?” The atmosphere around them grew tense, suddenly different than before, when they were only joking around.

Dorian noticed the cold atmosphere, but he smiled nonetheless. “You have nothing to worry from me. I don’t practice blood magic of _any_ kind; forbidden or not. Someone once told me it was a resort of the weak mind…and I believe that,” his smile turned wistful, but there was a soft glint in his brown eyes. As if reminiscing on a fond memory.

Instantly the tension between them disappeared and Nym’s ice-colored eyes became gentler than a second ago. He was back to his previous, laid-back self. Suddenly he stopped and looked up at the building before them, “As much as I like trading quips with you, we’re here.”

Dorian blinked as if stumped, and stared at the large wooden building before him. A hanging sign read ‘The Singing Maiden’ at the front gates. “A tavern?”

Nym opened the doors and let the scent of fresh food and gentle music wash over his senses. Since it was still midday, it wasn’t as rowdy or crowded as it was during the evening. With nightfall, the Inquisition soldiers would come to have a drink after a long shift while the villagers got together after a hard day’s work in the fields. The music would pick up the pace as spirits heightened, with laughter, drunken chatter and jolly mood echoing throughout the tavern. During the day, however, only a few patrons ate their meals in silence or spoke in low voices, giving off a more somber atmosphere to the place. 

Dorian’s expression soured as he walked inside. The tavern wasn’t some old decrepit building, but it was far from what he was used to. In Minrathous, he leisured in large mansions, while attending parties of Tevinter nobles in their gilded homes. In Ferelden, the nicest thing he could say about the ambient was that it was charmingly small and rustic.

“It’s not much, but Flissa has free rooms upstairs. I don’t know how long you intend to stay in Haven, so it should do for now,” the elf explained, walking over to the barkeep woman who gave him her usual cheerful smile, with just a hint of nervousness. 

Dorian’s gaze traveled around the room, looking at the clutter of tables and chairs. He realized the few humans who gathered in the tavern were all watching him carefully. He pretended not to notice, turning his attention back to Nymrodel, who was arranging his lodging with the owner. “Consequently, I got a deep craving for a strong drink as soon as I entered and saw this place,” he muttered to the elf sardonically.

Nym gave him a warning glance, before a waving hand caught his eye at one of the tables. He saw Sera and Varric sitting there, grinning at him. Finishing his business with Flissa and ordering two dark ales, Nym gestured for Dorian to follow him and headed towards his two comrades. “Let me introduce you to someone…You might need that strong drink soon,” he teased.

Sera smiled. “So you’re all back an’ ready to-, aaaand you brought the Robe,” her smile fell as soon as she saw Dorian behind him.

“Excuse me, the _Robe_?” Dorian asked, looking rather insulated as he sat down and suspiciously watched the dark swivel Nym just put in front of him. He was sure he would see it move on its own if he only stared long enough.

“Yeah, cause yaknow, you lot all wear your curtains or somethin’,” the elven girl laughed, which turned into a snort and then more laughter.

Dorian sighed, staring at the laughing girl like she just told a joke he heard about a million times already.

“That’s Sera, our archer. And you already know Varric,” Nym introduced them, taking a sip of his dark ale.

“How’s it going, Sparkler,” Varric greeted him with a smirk. Nym was impressed by how fast the dwarf thought up a nickname for their newest arrival.

“Charmed,” Dorian said bleakly, taking a gulp of his drink and instantly regretting it. Some of it wet his mustache and the man grimaced.

 “So you’re a Vinty helping us defeat them other Vinties,” Sera quirked her eyebrow in question.

“Something like that, yes,” the Tevinter mage nodded.

“And you don’t mind us killing your fellow citizens,” Varric asked.

Dorian sighed. “They are everything that is wrong with Tevinter. Lunatic cultists obsessed with bringing back Tevinter’s glory days by using blood magic and disrupting time and reality like it’s not a big concern. So by all means, kill them all you want,” he narrowed his eyes, annoyed by the very mention of his idiot fellow Tevinters.

Sera laughed, “You’re weird.”

“And I don’t even know what to make of all of _you_ ,” Dorian admitted.

This time it was the dwarf who laughed, “We are a diverse bunch, I’ll give you that.”

Nym shrugged with a smile, “But we all have the same goal. Fix the sky and bring peace back to Thedas. So as crazy as it may seem, we all work together when it counts.”

“I was only planning to stick around until this whole ghastly business with Alexius is done. I’d rather not…overstay my welcome and get burned at the stake for being an evil ‘Magister’, or whatever you Southerners do to us down here,” Dorian answered, only half-joking.

Varric snickered, “Relax, Sparkler, nobody’s going to burn you. Maybe give you a few dirty looks…”

“He’s right, Dorian. You are aiding the Inquisition. I’m not going to let anyone mistreat you here just because you are from Tevinter. You have my word,” Nym gave him a serious look.

He gave a small smile to the elf, “How very noble of you.” There was a glint of interest directed at Nym as he eyed the Dalish elf, wondering what kind of man this young elf truly was.  

Sera grinned, turning her attention to Nymrodel and changing the subject, “More importantly, I hear you have an admirer in the servants’ quarters. Some elven girl’s been talkin’ you up. Glad to see you’re doin’ good with the ‘little people’ too, yeah?”

Nym blinked, “Servant elven girl?” To be honest, he didn’t know the servants that well, except a few of them that he had more contact with during his stay in Haven. He was often out on travels, and when he would finally come back, he spent most of his time at the War table or in his cottage, going through paperwork. The only one he spent more time with… _*She must mean Athelle,*_ he concluded.

“Is there anyone these days who _isn’t_ talking highly about the Herald of Andraste,” Varric exclaimed in a laugh.

“Popular with the nobles _and_ the servants, huh? Well aren’t you just beloved all around,” Dorian teased with a smirk.

Rolling his eyes, Nym sighed in exasperation. “I just try to treat everyone equally, that’s all. I didn’t do anything special.”

“And he’s modest too! Stop it or you’ll make the rest of us look bad,” Dorian chuckled.

“No wonder that elven girl fell for him, huh,” his dwarven friend grinned, continuing the teasing.

“An’ she was cute too,” Sera added, a bit too loud. “I’d sure have a go with ‘er!” They were starting to attract attention from the other patrons, curious to hear what all the fuss was about.

Nym felt his long ears heat up in embarrassment.  

“Wha! lookit, his ears’ve gone all red,” the girl archer shouted with a grin.

“Stooop,” he whined, covering his ears and making the others only laugh harder at his flustered state.   

~……~

Two pints later Nym finally managed to escape his comrades and their ruthless teasing. It was already getting dark outside, and the cold pinched at his uncovered skin. As he walked on the snowy path, he could see mist forming on his breath, and shivered. The only thing warming him more than usual was the alcohol in his bloodstream, making him just a little bit tipsy.

He decided to go check on the stables, to see if the horses and his one Hart were warm enough. _*It seems tonight will be even colder than usual,*_ he concluded, blowing hot breath into his hands to warm them. He was certain Horsemaster Dennet would take good care of their chargers, but it was never bad to make sure, just in case.

He jogged down the path and entered the stables. It was warmer there, making Nym relax a little. The strong scent of horses whiffed at him as soon as he entered, but it was nothing he wasn’t used to. He walked over to the Hart and smiled.

Putting one hand on the Hart’s snout, he petted the gentle animal. “How are you feeling, Shara?” Shara was a male Red Hart, with silken mane of reddish-brown color and a wide white line on its snout, traveling all the way to its belly. The animal was gentle, but lively, its loud neigh often echoing throughout Haven’s camp. Nym named the young male Shara, which was short for ‘Sharahnain,’ due to its cheerful nature. 

The Hart happily rubbed its snout against the elf’s hand, making a few low grunts in response. Nym could feel the warmth against his hand and smiled. He took a woolen cover that was laid on a beam and draped it over Shara’s back to give him additional warmth for the night. The elf smiled and whispered to the sleepy animal, “You’ll be alright, falon. This cold is nothing for you, with such thick mane. I’m jealous,” he snickered.

He was interrupted by the sound of blows coming from the training grounds. “Don’t tell me Cassandra or Cullen are still out there, practicing,” he murmured out loud. Curious, he peeked out of the stables and watched through the darkness to see who was still training at this hour. His eyes blinked in surprise when he saw a giant frame swinging a large weapon against the training dummies. Such a form could only belong to one person; the only Qunari of the Inquisition, the Iron Bull.

“On nydha,” Nym said a quick goodbye to Shara, petting him gently one last time, and stepped out in the cold, shivering at the sudden loss of heat. Instead of his home, he headed down to the training area, watching the Qunari wield his giant axe like it was made form paper. The man was surprisingly agile for his big frame, especially considering he wore a brace on his left ankle. He swung downwards, bringing the axe onto the dummy’s head, then sidestepped as if dodging a flank attack and swung the axe from below, ending another imaginary enemy with a diagonal strike. The dummies made wrecking sounds every time they were hit, shaking wildly, but didn’t break. He obviously wasn’t using the same amount of strength he used when cleaving through heavy armor of his opponents, or there would be nothing left of Haven’s training equipment. As if Cassandra and Cullen weren’t making sure of that already.

The sight reminded Nym of the time in front of Redcliffe’s gates, when he saw the giant Qunari shatter the frozen Greater Terror, as if he was cutting through glass. He remembered the sharp, focused stare in his eye – there was something wild and untamed in that bloodlust-filled gaze. It was completely different from how Nym fought. The elf’s every move was calculated and controlled, so he could switch between offense and defense in an instant, if need be. On the other hand, Bull fought as if his sole purpose was to destroy every enemy in his path, but there was also a cleverness to it. He didn’t just jump into the fray like a mindless killing machine, even if that was how it looked like to an untrained eye. But anyone who had combat experience could see there was tactic in Bull’s movement. Even now while he exercised, Nym could see the man was swinging his weapon with skill and purpose, instead of just mindlessly slashing the air in hopes of hitting something.

Bull stopped, panting from the hard exercise. Even in this wintry weather, the man wasn’t wearing a shirt, but only his usual harness. Nym still wasn’t sure what that thing was supposed to bind; for holding the axe strapped to the back, was his best guess. He let the weapon fall to his side, taking a deep breath to even out his rushed breathing. Sweat glistened on his grey skin and his muscles flexed as he stretched out his hands a few times to let the strain out of them.

Then he smirked, noticing the other’s presence even though he was standing at his blind side. “Enjoying the show, Boss,” he called out, questioning him teasingly.

Nym jumped, caught off guard as he was still deep in his thoughts about Bull’s reaver skills. Realizing he was caught staring, he quickly opened his mouth to explain…when Bull’s words finally sunk in. He flushed, and this time it wasn’t from the alcohol. Not only his ears, but even his cheeks were red now. “W-what?!” He all but squeaked, quickly waving his hands in front of him as if to dismiss Bull’s claims. “N-no, I was just looking. I mean, I wasn’t looking at _you_. I just thought your fighting style was interesting so I-,” the poor elf rambled on, unable to stop himself.

Bull bellowed in laughter at the fretting elf, “Relax. I’m just messing with ya, Boss.”

Nym’s ear twitched in embarrassment. At least he forgot all about the cold for a moment. Of course, as soon as he remembered, he shuddered and put his slender arms around his body to warm up. “Why are you training at this hour, when it’s freezing outside? And shirtless, nonetheless,” he tilted his head in question.

The Qunari chuckled, “Just letting out some steam. I didn’t hit anything but practice dummies since we fought those demons. Well, except Krem, during drills,” he added with a grin.

Now it was Nym’s turn to chuckle, “You’ll get your chance soon enough, since we’re going after Magister Alexius. And fighting _Vints_ , no less; your specialty,” he smirked.

Shaking his head, the Qunari strolled over to a short stone wall where he laid out some of his things. He leaned his axe on the wall, then took a washcloth and wiped some sweat off his forehead. “Why am I not surprised that whenever some shit is going down, Vints end up being involved.”

 Nym sat on the wall, looking up at the giant man. “I’m surprised you get along so well with Krem considering your ‘ _high’_ opinion on Tevinters.”

“Why’s that?”

Nym raised an eyebrow curiously, “Because he’s a _Vint_?” Didn’t Bull see the contrast in that?

On his surprise, Bull just laughed. “Nah. He’s not a _Vint_ , he’s just Krem. I can get worked up about a group or a nation just fine, but people…It’s too much work to hate them one by one. Krem is a good soldier and a better second-in-command. The troops need someone to complain to when I’m being a hard-ass. He’s good for that. Speaking of which, the Inquisition troops have good form. Cullen trained them good. But I noticed you have a problem in the hierarchy; you’ve got no leader. No Inquisitor.”

He hummed in thought. “We all work together; Leliana as the spymaster, Cullen commands the troops, Josephine takes care of diplomacy and I seal the fade rifts. Plus, Cassandra is here to bring order with an iron fist when need-be. The Inquisition has worked just fine with everyone’s combined efforts so far,” he explained.

“That might work for now, while all you need is damage control. Reaction – a group can handle that. But once you seal the Breach, it’s going to be time to make decisions. Someone’s gonna have to step up,” the Qunari retorted.

Nymrodel felt uneasiness wash over him. “ _After_ we seal the Breach? The rebel mages and Templars have stopped fighting, haven’t they? And I’m only here because I can seal rifts, in the first place. Once the sky is mended, my work here is done. I’m going back to my Clan,” he shrugged, scowling. Once demons stop pouring out of the sky, it stops being his problem; at least that was the conviction he held so far. 

The larger man snorted, “You really think it’s gonna be that easy? Just seal the Breach and go home?” Bull didn’t look convinced. He shook his head in amusement, and suddenly Nym felt naïve for ever thinking that. But then the Qunari shrugged, “Bah, who knows! Maybe you seal the Breach, the Chantry gets off their ass, and all the Inquisition’s soldiers go home and get fat. And you get to go home too.”

Lavellan pursed his lips, “You think?”

“It could happen. It won’t, but it _could_ ,” the other man shrugged again.

Feeling frustrated, he clicked his tongue, and drew his knees to his chest to try and keep his body warmth, while he pondered on Bull’s words. He looked at his left palm, gazing at his faintly glowing mark. “I can only seal rifts, that’s all. After the Breach is closed, I will fulfill any duty I have towards the Inquisition and be free to return to my Clan…that’s what I thought so far, at least. This is a human organization to begin with, I have no reason to stay after the Breach is closed,” he frowned, then glanced at Bull, “What about you? Once the Breach is closed, are you planning to stick with the Inquisition?”

Now it was the Qunari’s turn to hum in thought, “Who knows. Maybe if the pay’s good and they’ll have a need for a mercenary company. But remember, the main reason I joined was because the Ben-Hassrath ordered me to investigate this weird-ass fade magic and help close the Breach, if possible. Once that’s done, I guess my work here will be finished too…if I don’t get new orders.”

That’s when Nym remembered. “Right, the whole Ben-Hassrath spy thing. To be honest, with you leading the Chargers like a real mercenary captain, it’s really easy to forget you are actually working for the Qunari.”

Bull chuckled, “That’s the point.”

“How does one become…Ben-Hassrath exactly?” Nym was getting so engrossed in the conversation, he even forgot about the cold weather. “You explained to me before about Qunari and your society, but you never told me how you ended up a Ben-Hassrath spy in Orlais?”   

“You have a lot of questions. You writin’ a book,” the man asked suspiciously. His Ben-Hassrath side was rearing its head.

“What can I say, I’m inquisitive by nature,” he joked while shrugging. “But in all seriousness, I think it’s important to know your comrades - the people who have your back on the battlefield. You said it yourself before; ‘I want to know what my guys are drinking and who they’re sleeping with’,” Nym explained, repeating Bull’s words. “Although, I don’t really need _that_ much detail,” he gave a sheepish smile. “I just think you need to get to know someone before you can trust them. Especially if they fight every day beside you. Besides, I never met a Qunari before you,” he admitted, and felt a bit silly now that he said that out loud. He felt inexperienced; like he had been completely closed-off from the world until leaving his Clan, which was pretty much the case.

“Alright, I see your point,” the man admitted. “It’s pretty simple really. I was good at knocking things down since I was a kid. They had me pegged for military work early on. When my Tamassran learned I could hit stuff _and_ lie, they started training me for the Ben-Hassrath. At first, they sent me to Seheron because they needed someone who could hunt down problems.” Bull frowned, a deep crease appearing on his forehead. He was remembering something unpleasant, no doubt. “That whole island was a sack of cats. Incursions from Tevinter, Tal-Vashoth, and native rebels – Fog Warriors - fighting both sides. And in the middle, me, trying to wrangle the rebels and restore order.”

“Sounds like a picnic,” Nym commented sarcastically, but there was a scowl on his face. He could imagine the chaos just from Bull’s words.

“Heh, you could say that. It went as well as you’d imagine. I hunted down a lot of rebels, lost a lot of friends to the Vints, or the Fog Warriors, or the Tal-Vashoth. One day I woke up and couldn’t think of a damned good reason to continue doing my job. I thought about letting some enemy kill me, but I didn’t want to give those bastards the satisfaction. So I turned myself over to the Reeducators.”

Nym’s eyes widened. Bull talked about the Reeducators before; how they _changed people’s minds_ through what was practically torture. He couldn’t believe that someone would go to them willingly. He wondered how broken Bull must’ve felt to do that, and couldn’t even imagine the loud, strong warrior he knew, in such a state. “That must’ve taken a lot of courage…to go to them even though you know what they do,” he whispered.

“What they do is they _fix_ you. I wanted them to fix me.”

It sounded so strange to the Dalish elf. Like the Qunari were some kind of tools that needed to be repaired when they lost efficiency.

Bull continued, “The Ben-Hassrath ordered me to go to Orlais, ostensibly as a Tal-Vashoth, and work undercover. That’s how I ended up here.”

“And are you…happy here,” the elf asked cautiously. He felt like they were entering a rather private sphere for Bull and didn’t want to overstep any line.

“Are you kidding,” Bull asked through a laugh. “I get to fight, drink and eat orlesian food, which I particularly like, and every now and then write to the Ben-Hassrath about it. Plus, you guys here have redheads…mmmm, redheads,” the man smiled, his eye gleaming with some fond image in his mind.

Shaking his head, Nym chuckled. “Sounds like you have it better here than back home under the Qun.”

The man snorted, “What, three meals a day and free sex whenever I need it?” He laughed. “I came out here for the challenge, Boss. Figured I’d rough it with you savages,” he teased.

Lavellan laughed and rolled his eyes, “ _Us_ , savages? You must be talking about the shems,” he grinned.    

“Oh, right. Dalish and Skinner use that word for the humans sometimes, too.”

“Yeah, it means-,” he started, then stopped, his mind rewinding a little. “Wait, did you say something about free sex?!”

The Qunari burst in laughter again, watching the elf’s shocked expression. “Right, well you know…the Qunari build up a lot of stress during their jobs. There is a beastly part of us, but the Qun keeps it under control. Without it, Qunari turn savage…like the Tal-Vashoth in Seheron. Sex is just another good way to release all that pent up energy. Like…seeing a healer,” he explained the best he could. “It’s not a big deal like it is here.” Eyeing Lavellan, he could see the elf was thinking about his words. He gave him a sudden slap on the back, while smirking. “You could use that too, Boss. Considering how much stress you work up being _the Herald_ all day,” he said with a knowing look.

Nym almost chocked at the sudden hit on his back. The tips of his ears reddened again as he blushed, “T-that’s alright, I’m fine! Besides, I’d rather…d-do it with someone I c-care about,” he stammered, barely getting the sentence out, burning with embarrassment all the while. He wasn’t usually bashful, but he never really discussed his sex life, or lack thereof, so openly with anyone before.

Bull chuckled and gave Nym another slap, on his shoulders this time. It was far too amusing riling this guy up and watching him squirm. Bull and the Chargers often did the same to each other, teasing or messing with one another, or just giving each other a hard time. But it was all in good fun and it actually brought them all closer together. Ultimately, it was good for morale. So Bull didn’t mean anything bad by it, as he did the same to Nym. Lavellan didn’t appear to be truly angry about the teasing, either.

The elf just gave an exasperated sigh and looked up. It was proper night now, darkness and silence all around them. The sky here in the Frostback Mountains was so clear, it was riddled with numerous shining stars, too many to count. But even now, there was a green hue in the sky, coming from the Breach. A constant reminder of the danger looming over their heads, quite literally.

He hummed in thought, “The way you always talk about the Qun, it all sounds so different than here…it’s hard to imagine. It’s difficult to picture living with no personal freedoms and with your life so predetermined by others, but… you said everyone is equal under the Qun. Nobody is less worthy just because they are different. There are no _shems_ and _knife-ears_ …I can respect that,” he mused. “Maybe our society can learn something from the Qunari too.”

The Iron Bull grunted, raising an amused eyebrow. Usually, the Southerners hated Qunari and the Qun on principle. It was rare that someone took the time to think of its positives. He appreciated that. “You thinking of converting?” He gave him a teasing smirk as he asked.

Nym laughed, “No way. I don’t think I’d do well under the Qun to be honest. Besides…a Dalish elf, the Herald of Andraste _and_ a Viddathari? That’s a bit too much of a special snowflake, don’t you think,” he gave him a sheepish smile.

Bull laughed too, “You got a point there.” A loud sneeze interrupted their conversation and he saw the little elf sniff. “Yeah, we really need to get you inside before you freeze to death out here, Boss.” He placed his large hand on Nym’s narrow back and rubbed it gently, trying to keep him warm.

Nym stiffened under the touch for a moment, his heart painfully skipping a beat. It was only for a second before he relaxed into it, but even when Bull pulled back, he could still feel heat radiating from the place where he was touched. Nym wasn’t sure what made him jump like that, but he simply wrote it off as surprise. Bull’s touch didn’t feel uncomfortable, though.  

“Right,” he agreed and sneezed again, as if making Iron Bull’s point. He was shivering now, with his hands trembling, yet he was so focused on the conversation, he didn’t even notice before. He hopped from the small wall, stretching and instantly regretting it as it only made him feel colder. _*I’ll have to draw myself a hot bath before I catch a cold,*_ he thought, already looking forward to it. He glanced back at the Qunari who was picking up his possessions. “You get some rest too. We’re traveling for Redcliffe again tomorrow.”

As he turned to leave, the Qunari called out from behind him, “It was nice talking to you, Boss.” Nym gave him a wide smile, then jogged back to his home, already imagining that hot bath.  

* * *

 

Glossary:

_Sharahnain_ \- happy little thing. From the words: sha (happy) + rahn (thing) + ain (diminutive suffix meaning a child version, or childlike, or a cute something)

_Falon_ \- friend

_On nydha_ – Good night

_Din’dhru_ – No way (as in; exclamation of disbelief)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always have a problem writing Sera’s way of speech. “A bit wonky, but still understandable,” would be my explanation. I also worry about keeping the OCs in character…hopefully I’m succeeding? I’m also trying to write a realistic progress of Bull’s and Nym’s relationship as they slowly become closer. From comrades in arms, to friends to something more. ;) That’s why I’m keeping it slow.  
> Thank you all for reading!  


	11. The Villainous Cliché

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So it's 1am, I'm exhausted and just finished proofreading with my tired eyes, so I reeeally hope I didn't miss any spelling errors (If I did, I'm sorry. Warn me about them and I'll correct them!)  
> Enjoy!

_“The envoy can’t be made of a large group, or Alexius will become suspicious. Take a small party and meet with the Magister. Try and keep him talking for as long as you can, while our agents sneak inside the Castle,”_ Leliana had explained while they were in Haven.

_“I will go with your agents and assist them. I’ll know how to deal with any wards Alexius might have put up for protection around the Castle,”_ Dorian had added.

That is how Nym found himself playing bait, walking right into the throne room of Redcliffe Castle, while knowingly heading into a trap.

However, he was not alone. Iron Bull, Varric and Cassandra were right by his side, posing as the bodyguards for this envoy. He wanted to bring the others, as well, following the wisdom ‘strength in numbers,’ but knew the Magister might not be willing to see them if he comes with a small army of powerful individuals.

Instead, Solas took the others for a different mission. Since the regions that suffered from fade rifts before Nym closed them were still plagued by straggler demons, the elven mage and his group went to cleanse those places that needed help. The elf also mentioned they might comb the areas for more elven artifacts that were supposed to strengthen the Veil. Nym didn’t really know how the artifacts worked, and Solas used a lot of phrases relating to old elven magic that Nym couldn’t quite understand, so he just trusted the mage with it and went to do what _he_ could do; stop the Tevinter Magister. 

As they stepped into the hall, a human approached them with a confused frown. “The invitation is for Master Lavellan only. The rest of you must wait here.”

Nym examined the guards wearing Tevinter robes, surrounding them. Their masked faces were hiding their expressions, so he couldn’t tell if they were about to attack or were just keeping a close watch on his group. His eyes narrowed skeptically before his gaze turned towards the human in front of him, “They go where I go.”

The man’s frown deepened and for a while, he and Lavellan had a staring contest of willpower. Nymrodel won. The steward sighed, seeing the group had no intention of obeying the request. That was especially clear with Cassandra snarling at the man behind Nymrodel.

“Very well,” the man grumbled, finally relenting. He gestured for the four of them to follow and led them deeper into the hall, where Alexius awaited them.   

The Magister was seated on the throne, parading his power and rule over Redcliffe Castle, as illegitimate as it may be. His son was standing by his side, while Fiona stood quietly at the foot of the stairs, below the two Tevinters, as if she was already accepting her role as a servant.

Alexius awaited for his page to announce the Inquisition agents before he slowly stood up and walked closer to the Herald. Putting on a friendly smile, he spoke cheerfully. “My friends! How good of you to respond to my letter so quickly. It is good to see you again,” he greeted, never taking his eyes off Nymrodel. “I’m sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties.”

The former Grand Enchanter stepped closer, glaring at the Magister, “Are we Mages to have no voice in deciding our fate!?”

“Fiona, you would not have turned your followers to my care if you did not trust me with their lives,” Alexius reminded her. His words only made the woman glare at him harder.

Nym glanced at the mage woman for a second before hardening his resolve again, “If the Grand Enchanter wishes to be a part of these talks then I welcome her as a guest of the Inquisition. I do believe I have that right, yes?”

The woman looked startled for a moment, but quickly composed herself. “Thank you.” She didn’t expect for the Inquisition agents to support her so easily.

Gereon didn’t look as pleased. His lips pressed into a thin line, but he made no argument against it. He turned back to sit on the throne, and looked down at the Herald. “So be it. Let us begin then,” he started. “The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them. So…what shall you offer in exchange?”

_“Keep him talking until we’re ready,”_ Nym remembered Leliana’s words. “The Inquisition is an Orlesian organization. We have many connections within the Orlesian nobility; money, status, connections for future cooperation…we can offer any of these things,” he explained. While talking, he kept his senses focused, listening for any subtle sound that could be a beginning of a trap…or his agents signaling him that they have arrived.

“To be honest, I do not see what Orlesian nobility can offer me that I do not already possess,” Alexius sighed as if bored with the negotiations already. He had a flare for the dramatic, if nothing else.

Nym was only partly listening to the Magister as he noticed movement in the shadows at his side. Leliana’s agents have arrived, ready to strike at the Tevinter guards at any moment. The fact that they were in the throne room, meant they already made quick work of Alexius’s other guards in the Castle. They were even quicker than Nym expected them to be – probably because of Dorian’s help.

 Yet the one who broke the charade was neither Lavellan nor Alexius, but Felix. The young man turned to his father with a disappointed gaze, “He knows everything father.”

A mixture of emotions crossed the Magister’s face. First confusion, then doubt, and finally anger. “Felix, what have you done,” he hissed in bewilderment.

Nym stepped closer, “Your trap has failed, Alexius. Come with us quietly, and no harm will befall you. You have my word.”

“Be careful,” he heard the Iron Bull growl a warning behind him. The Qunari didn’t believe the mage would back down that easily. And he was right.

Gereon glared at the elf, standing up from his throne again. His Tevinter guards were fidgeting, just waiting for his order to attack. But Nym knew Leliana’s agents were lying in wait, as well. He hoped no more blood would be spilled, but it didn’t look that way from Alexius’s attitude. The man spoke with venom in his tone, “You tried to turn my son against me!? You are nothing but a thief! You walk in here with your stolen mark – a gift you don’t even understand – and think you’re in control? You’re nothing but a mistake,” he spat out.

Nym’s eyes narrowed dangerously, “What do you know about my mark?” It was evident now that this man knew more than he was letting on. And if he knew about his mark, perhaps he knew more about the Breach as well.

“That mark was never supposed to come to you,” the Magister shouted in anger. “It was for the _Elder One_ and you ruined everything!”

Nym was taken aback, but Cassandra shouted before he could respond, “You know who killed the Devine, don’t you!? I demand you tell us at once!” She snarled at the mage, her dark eyes burning.

“You will learn soon enough, Seeker,” the man glowered at her.

Felix tried to stop him, putting a hand on his shoulder and spinning him so he was forced to look his son in the eyes. There was nothing but hurt in Felix’s gaze. “Father, listen to yourself! Don’t you know what you sound like?” For just a second, Alexius’s rage wavered when he saw Felix, a wrenching feeling in his heart.

But the moment was gone as soon as Dorian interrupted them. “He sounds exactly like the villainous cliché everyone expects us to be,” the mage answered instead.

If Gereon was surprised by the other’s sudden appearance, he hardly showed it. His eyes narrowed, “Dorian…I gave you a chance to be a part of this and you turned me down. The Elder One has power you wouldn’t believe! He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.”

While they argued among themselves, Nym was only focused on one thing; _Who was this Elder One?_ That question kept spinning in his mind. _*Was he the one who killed the Devine? The one responsible for the Conclave?*_ His hands clenched at his sides _. *The one whose voice we heard at the Temple!?*_ There was only one way to find out, and he decided to get the answers from the Magister…one way or another.

He glared up at Alexius again, “Who is this Elder One you speak of? Is he some Tevinter Magister?” From the way Alexius spoke of him, he sounded like another Tevinter mage, aiming to spread the Imperium’s power and influence. Only this time, this Magister was doing it through crazy cultists instead of shady politics and warmongering.

“Ha! He is not your typical Tevinter mage of the Magisterium,” Alexius snorted, looking at Nymrodel’s group with scorn.

“You can’t involve my people in this,” now even Fiona intervened, yelling at him.

Dorian stepped forward, “Why are you doing this, Alexius? This is exactly what you and I talked about _never_ wanting to happen!”

“They’re right, father. Just stop! Give up the Venatori, let the Southern mages fight the Breach and let’s go home,” Felix pleaded with him.

“Not before he answers our questions about what happened at the Conclave,” Nym reminded. “And the Venatori must answer for what they did to the Tranquil mages,” he added with a snarl. He was not so quick to forget what he saw about the Ocularum, and he intended to get justice for those poor souls. He swore it by the vallaslin of Mythal on his face.

For a moment, Alexius appeared like he was having a change of heart. Like he would concede to their terms and surrender. But then he turned his pained gaze towards his son and the defiant light returned to his eyes, “No. The Elder One can save you. You don’t have to die, Felix.” He turned back to the group, pointing directly at Lavellan. “Seize them, Venatori! The Elder One demands this man’s life!”

The elf clicked his tongue in irate, seeing this situation wasn’t about to be resolved peacefully. He took a stance, preparing for battle, but knew there was no need to panic even though it seemed like they were surrounded. As expected, and right on cue, Leliana’s agents acted. They leaped from the shadows, taking the Venatori by surprise and attacking them from behind. Before their enemies could react, they easily slit their throats or stabbed them in the backs, until no Venatori guard was left standing. Now only Alexius remained.

“Your men are dead, Alexius. You have nothing left. I will ask you one last time to surrender peacefully,” Nym warned in a low tone, his gaze deadly serious. No more games.

“Let’s just hope he has nothing more up his sleeve…cause those are some big sleeves,” Varric muttered, but his tone remained humorless. 

Still, the Magister persisted. He lost his men, his mages - everything he had, yet he still wouldn’t give up. “You are a mistake! You never should have existed,” he hissed, seething. There was a strange pendant in his hand, hovering over his palm. It started glowing brighter and brighter, as if the Magister prepared a spell within it.  

Nym’s eyes widened and he reached for his weapons, determined to stop the mage before he cast his spell. He never got the chance.

Dorian acted before any of them, shouting and swinging with his staff towards the glowing pendant. His magic hit, interfering with Alexius’s spell, and the two combined to create an ominous portal. It swirled around in dark green colors, engulfing Nym and Dorian before they could escape its influence.

When the darkness lifted from the room, there was nothing but a charred stain on the carpet.

Everyone stared in shock at the place Dorian and Nym were standing only a second ago. They all thought the same thing; ‘They are gone. No. They are _dead_.’

“Snow…,” Varric whispered, stunned. He was unable to look away from the empty spot before him.

“Noooo,” Cassandra screamed. Her voice was filled with burning rage, even more than horror.

Bull didn’t even say anything. He just took the massive axe off his back and charged at the Magister. “Grrraaaaah!” With an angry shout, the Qunari swung his weapon towards the mage just as the other raised his arm to cast another spell and defend himself.

~……~

“Nnnn,” the elf groaned, slowly opening his ice-blue eyes. He expected to see the decorated ceiling of the Redcliffe Castle hall, but instead, he saw a stone wall that looked like it belonged to the dungeons. _*How did I get here?*_ He looked around, when a cold wet feeling hit him and he realized he was sitting in murky water. Great. Now he was confused _and_ wet.

Wet clothes were the least of his problems, however. He heard perplexed shouts and focused his vision to see two Venatori guards running at him in full armor. “Eeeh?” The elf quickly rolled to the side, now completely drenched in water, and dodged a sword that fell right where he was sitting a moment ago.

Quickly getting up, he threw a blade at the closer Venatori. It hit right below the helmet, piercing his throat. With a startled chocked gasp, the man collapsed and splashed into the water. The other guard ran right at him, his long sword raised. Nym growled and stepped forward, cutting off the man’s charge and delivering a hard stomp kick to his abdomen. The guard stumbled backwards, giving him time to unsheathe his dual daggers and leap forward. He gave a strong stab to the man’s stomach with one dagger, hard enough to piece the armor, while he used his other weapon to slash at the man’s throat. The Venatori’s grip on his sword loosened and he fell to his knees, slowly bleeding to death. The murky water around Nym’s feet changed color into crimson.

Sensing no more enemies nearby, the elf relaxed and sheathed back his weapons. He pulled his throwing knife from the dead Venatori’s neck, and tucked it back on his belt where his throwing blades were all sheathed.

“Nym,” a voice called out and the elf spun around in surprise, seeing Dorian on the other side of the doors. “So I wasn’t the only one sent here,” he sighed in relief. “Quick, find the key to these doors,” he rattled the barred doors that separated them.

The elf nodded, and knelt to search the Venatori guardsmen. He shivered as the cold water pooled around his waist. While he looked for the key, the two continued their conversation, “What’s happening here, Dorian? Where are we?”

“I’m…not sure. It looks like we are in the dungeons,” the mage responded.

“Well I could’ve told you that much,” he muttered sardonically. He found a set of keys dangling from the guard’s belt and took it, walking over to the doors. He started pushing each one in the lock, trying to find the one that fits.

Meanwhile, Dorian ignored Nym’s remark and continued to theorize, though it sounded more like he was talking to himself. “It’s probably not what Alexius intended, but the portal moved us…to what? The closest confluence of arcane energy,” he guessed.

The lock clicked loudly, and with a screech of iron, the doors between them opened.

The mage continued, “So if we’re still in the castle, it isn’t….oh, of course!” He exclaimed, beaming at the elf who still didn’t understand anything. “It’s not simply where - it’s when! Alexius used the amulet as a focus – it moved us through time!”

Nym did understand the last thing Dorian said, but it left him feeling no more reassured than a minute ago. “Time travel? Are you kidding me!? How is that possible? And…where, I mean, _when_ are we!?” He was slowly starting to panic, his big eyes widening even more.

“That is what we need to find out,” Dorian stated matter-of-factly. He was far too relaxed about the whole situation, in Nym’s opinion. “Let’s get out of the dungeons, first,” the mage suggested and headed up the stairs with Nym following him.

“Can we go back,” he asked after a while, feeling a bit calmer now.

“I don’t know,” Dorian muttered, a bit worried himself. “If not, we better get comfortable in this time.”

The rogue grimaced, looking around at the damp cells, decayed walls and cold water around their knees. And was that _red lyrium_ growing out of the walls?! “I’d rather not,” he mumbled.

They continued their cautious walk up the stairs, slowly making their way out of the castle’s basement. “I’m more worried what this will do to the fabric of the world. We didn’t ‘travel’ through time so much as punch a hole through it and toss it in the privy,” he explained colorfully. He stopped for a moment and looked directly at Nym, “But don’t worry. I’m here. I’ll protect you.”

The elf was a bit taken aback by this bold statement. He raised one eyebrow in wonder. Did he look so fragile that this mage thought he needed protection? He frowned at the thought. “I can protect myself, thank you very much,” he countered.

Now it was Dorian’s turn to raise an inquisitive eyebrow. He smirked in amusement as he saw the young elf turn his back on him and continue on their way. “Are you pouting? Because that’s adorable,” he teased with a chuckle.

He could see Nym’s shoulders stiffen before the elf exclaimed over his shoulder, “I am certainly _not_ pouting,” a bit too defensively for someone claiming he wasn’t. Dorian snickered at the elf - he was definitely pouting.

~…..~

Fiona was the first one they found after roaming the vast dungeons. She was dying, the red lyrium growing out of her as if it was using her like fertilizer. Nym felt sick to his stomach as he watched it consume her, baffled that something like that was even possible.

He knew the state of this world had somehow become wrong, but it was far worse than he thought. In an entire year, the whole world had come to ruin. And the one responsible, apparently, wasn’t only Alexius, but the ‘Elder One’ he served. _“More powerful than the Maker,”_ Fiona had said. Nym never thought such a blasphemous statement would come from one of the Faithful, but that only made him wonder more about this mysterious villain and how dangerous they truly were. He watched Fiona perish into the red lyrium, but not before she gave them some hope – there were others beside her still trapped here. Even Leliana, their spymaster, was in the Castle.

“We need to save them,” Nym insisted, while he and Dorian moved on through the dungeons. They encountered a few more Venatori guards on the way, but nothing the pair couldn’t handle.

“First we need to find them,” the mage pointed out, then cast another spell that burned the guard rushing their way.

As if on cue, they both heard chanting from the doors nearby. The two exchanged curious glances before Nymrodel dared to open the doors, Dorian ready with his staff behind him.

Peering inside, the elf could see there were no guards, but what he now identified as praying became louder. He walked over to one of the cells and gasped when he saw Cassandra sitting on the ground, her legs crossed, as she prayed to the Maker. She looked deathly pale, with an unnatural red glow in her eyes.

“Cassandra,” he whispered in surprise.

The woman was startled, quickly pushing herself up on weak knees. “Y-you’ve returned to us!? Can it be?! Has Andraste given us another chance?” She gasped in pain, her head hung low as she clutched at the bars, “Maker forgive me, I failed you! I failed everyone!”

Nym shook his head, “You didn’t fail anyone, Cassandra. This is all wrong, but we can still make it right.” He knelt down and took out his lockpicking kit, then went to work on the cell doors.

Meanwhile, Dorian explained, “Alexius cast a spell that sent us forward in time. This reality _never_ should have happened! If we find Alexius, we can reverse the spell, get back to our own time and prevent this from ever happening.”

“So….you didn’t die?” Cassandra still looked doubtful. She wanted to believe this was real with all her heart, but after everything that’s happened, it was hard to find hope again.

“We didn’t,” the elf gave her a reassuring smile. He opened the cell doors and let her out. “Are you alright? Can you help us fight our way through to Alexius?”

 Her expression instantly hardened, “You don’t even need to ask. Of course I will help. If you can stop this all from happening, you _must_ try.” Then she gazed at the empty space on her belt, “But I have no weapon…No shield.”

“Luckily for you, there is a vast assortment of dead Venatori guards to pick your weapons from,” Dorian pointed his thumb at the way they came from.

“We’ll look for an armory on our way. Come on,” Nym hurried. He didn’t want to stay in one place for long lest they be discovered. For all they knew, Alexius might already know they’re here.

“Maker guide us all,” Cassandra prayed silently before they moved out.

~…..~

It didn’t take long before they found others in the dungeons. They saw the elven mage who worked with Fiona in the rebellion. He was standing in his cell, reciting the Chant of Light repeatedly. Nym wanted to help him, but the man was already too far gone to save.

To his relief, the one in the opposite cell was in a better state. “Varric!” Nym exclaimed with a bright smile, quickly unlocking his cell like he did with Cassandra’s.

“Snow! Andraste’s sacred knickers, I’m seeing things, aren’t I,” the dwarf exclaimed.

“Not quite. Alexius sent us through time and here we are, to make sure this future never happens,” Dorian quickly explained. He was starting to get tired of repeating himself so many times.

Varric sighed as he stared at Nym,” Everything that happens to you is weird.”

The elf laughed despite the dire situation. He just couldn’t help it - he was so glad to see his friend alive. Only, not so well. Varric looked just as bad as Cassandra, the same strange red glow present around him like an ominous aura. “You might be right about that,” he confessed.

The dwarf shrugged, “I’m always right. And when I’m not, I lie about it.”

He smirked, “So are we going to stand here and trade quips, or are we going to tear Alexius a new one?”

“Heh. I’m always up for saving the world, you know that,” the other rogue chuckled. Then his smile fell, his expression turning somber. “But it’s not Alexius you need to worry about – it’s his master, the Elder One. He assassinated the Empress of Orlais, throwing the world into chaos. Then he attacked using an army of demons,” he shivered at the bad memories.

“It is true. We…stood no chance,” Cassandra shook her head, with hurt in her reddened eyes. “Commander Cullen, he….he stood his ground with the Inquisition soldiers as long as he could, but in the end it wasn’t enough. I watched him fall on the battlefield…,” she trailed off, her voice quivering. It was still too painful to talk about.

Nym put a hand on her shoulder to try and bring at least a little bit of comfort. “I’m so sorry Cassandra.” He squeezed her shoulder as he remembered, “But we have information that Leliana is still alive and inside this castle. We must find her.”

“What we must do is go back to our own time and make sure all of this never happens,” Dorian muttered darkly.

~…..~

Two Venatori guards stood in front of the doors, guarding the left wing of the dungeons.

“Is Alexius really sealing the castle,” one asked, his voice muffled through the helmet.

“I heard he’s terrified of the Elder One. He’s already failed him one too many times,” the other answered.

The first one gulped, “What will happen to us then? Will we be…relocated?”

The other clicked his tongue in annoyance, “Do not question your master’s orders! All you need to worry about is guarding this door,” he reprimanded the younger soldier.

“Yes, sir!” The man saluted, then let out a pained gasp. “Urk!” Suddenly, a blade went through his lungs, passing from his back through his chest.

“What the-,” the senior guard shouted in surprise, only to be interrupted by a loud cry.

Cassandra rushed forward with a metal shield and a longsword she took from the dead Venatori soldiers. She slammed her shield against the unsuspecting guard, making him stumble backwards, then ran him through with her sword. It passed through his stomach, piercing his armor, and pinned him to the wooden door behind him that he was guarding. The woman pulled out her sword, watching the dead Venatori slide down against the doors, leaving a bloody trail.

Nym pulled out his dagger from the other guard and kept it in his hand as he cautiously opened the door. Although almost a full hour of wandering around passed since he and Dorian manifested in this future, they were still trudging around the dungeons.

“I don’t feel right without Bianca at my side,” Varric complained, feeling his hands were unnaturally empty without his crossbow. He found a dagger on one of the guards, but it just wasn’t the same. He wasn’t used to close combat.

“I know, Varric. It’s probably in the armory somewhere. We’ll get there…I hope,” the elf muttered the last part, a bit uncertain. In truth, he had no idea where they were supposed to go and the others were no help either, considering they were locked up in the dungeon all this time. He guessed they just needed to head up to the main level of the castle, but this place was like a maze – they couldn’t find a staircase leading to the main floor. So Nym took his chances and tried every door or staircase he could find, while the group cleaned out any soldiers that got in the way. It was a miracle the Venatori haven’t yet realized they were on the loose and sent a whole army after them.

Nym blinked at the familiar, yet curious sound inside one of the cells. The voice sounded echoic and unnatural, but there was no doubt about it – it was the Iron Bull. 

“Three hundred bottles of beer on the wall, three hundred bottles of beer…take one down, pass it around…,” Bull didn’t finish as he groaned in utter boredom.

He ran over to the cell and saw the familiar broad and scarred back of his companion. The elf smiled despite himself, “How long have you been singing that song for?”

It was the first time he saw the Qunari startled. He flinched and turned around, his grey eye widening in surprise. “You’re not dead? You’re supposed to be dead! There was a burn on the ground and everything.”

“The way you say it, you sound almost disappointed,” the elf joked as he started working on the cell’s lock.

Bull grunted, “With that smartass mouth, at least I know it’s really you.”

Nym chuckled, not offended by his statement in the slightest. The group soon appeared behind him, and Dorian explained their situation for the nth time that day. When he finished, Iron Bull growled in irritation, “Great, now being dead and not being dead if up for debate.”

“Just come with us and help us fight Alexius,” Varric interjected.

Nym opened the prison cell and Bull stepped out, scowling all the while. “Why? You want to see what other tricks he’s got?”

“Dorian suggested we might be able to stop this from ever happening,” Cassandra explained.

“ _Maybe_. Trying might also turn us into paste,” Dorian pointed out in a warning.

“We have to try,” Nym’s gaze hardened.

The Qunari exasperatedly sighed. “Kill Alexius? Fine, sounds good. I’m dying from this red lyrium crap anyway, so I’d rather go out fighting. Let’s go.”

~…..~

It took them another twenty minutes of searching until they finally found the armory. Bull knocked down the door with one good kick, flattening the poor guard that was standing on the other side.

The Qunari grinned when he saw his trusted axe, barely decayed by the passage of time. At least the Venatori kept their weapons in good state. 

“Bianca,” Varric exclaimed like he just met with an old friend. He took the crossbow into his hands, feeling the familiar weight and aiming with the scope to see if everything was in order.

Dorian whispered to Nym next to him, “The dwarf appears more excited now than he did when he saw _you_.”

“His fixation with that crossbow is…disconcerting to say the least,” the Seeker agreed.

The said dwarf gave them all a dirty look, “Hey, I heard that.”

While his comrades bickered, Nym turned to Bull who was on the side. There was something still troubling him, but he wasn’t sure if he should ask. Before he resolved himself, the Qunari decided for him, “What is it?”

Nym opened his mouth with a perplexed expression, but once again the man beat him to it, “Ben-Hassrath training, remember? I noticed you staring at me. You want to ask me something?”

“What…happened to the Bull’s Chargers,” he finally found the courage to ask. He knew how much Bull cared for his men, so it was strange that he wasn’t with them until the end.

Bull sighed, his face twisting into an angry frown. His one eye glazed over, “We helped Cullen hold off the damn demon army as long as we could, but they all fell on the battlefield…one by one. Dalish, Krem, Rocky…all of ‘em.” His grip tightened around the haft of his axe.

“I’m so sorry, Bull,” Lavellan lowered his gaze. He felt guilt squeeze at his chest; a part of him thinking he should have been there, fighting alongside the Inquisition troops until the end, even though he knew that was impossible. He knew this future wasn’t _his_ , after all.

“Did you ever fight a demon army, Boss,” Bull asked as if eager to change the subject. “Because it’s a shitstorm and I don’t recommend it,” he growled in anger.

_*I can imagine,*_ the elf mused. He looked back up at the Qunari, “If we succeed in this, we won’t have to fight it. And the Chargers… _everyone_ , will be safe again,” he reassured him. It was the only thing he could think of to say.

“Yeah…” However, Bull’s frown didn’t disappear.

~…..~

It seemed they raised enough havoc on their way to the armory for the Venatori to finally rise the alarm. When Nym and his group returned to the cross-section of the upper dungeons, they saw the large bridge lowered. Venatori rushed through opened doors, coming from three different sides.

Unfortunately for them, the Inquisition group was fully armed now. Nymrodel grinned, “They even lowered the bridge for us. How kind of them.”

The group charged, led by Lavellan, while Iron Bull and Cassandra guarded their flanks. Dorian and Varric slowed down and stayed in the back, offering supporting fire.

The first Venatori swung his sword at Nym, but the other easily blocked the attack with his left dagger, deflecting it to the side. He stabbed the right dagger into the man’s eye through the helmet, swiping his foot with his ankle at the same time, and tossing him to the ground. He quickly pulled his dagger out just as another soldier came attacking. The man slashed with a sabre diagonally, but he ducked and twisted his body, the sword passing over his head and to the side, leaving the soldier open. While straightening back, he slashed with one dagger, slicing the man’s throat. He didn’t even look back at his enemy as the other chocked and then collapsed, falling from the bridge and down into oblivion.

Continuing his charge as the vanguard, while Iron Bull and the Seeker fended off the enemies that came at their sides, Nym stopped at the next opponent. He fixated his vision on the Venatori soldier wielding a long spear.

He could hear his mentor’s voice in his mind as he remembered his training. _“Spearmen are tricky to handle. They attack from long range, but unlike with the bow, you can’t just dodge the first attack and then close the distance before they manage to reload. The spear is always a danger. The only way to deal with it is to break their guard and rush in, until you’ve passed the end of the spear. But that move is also filled with risk – fail and you will be skewered like a pig.”_ Ronas always did have a way with words.

Surprisingly, Nym sheathed his daggers and took a stance, now barehanded and keeping his distance. They were standing near the ledge of the bridge, easy to lose their footing and fall to their deaths. The Venatori drew closer, confident in his advantage with the weapon. Too confident.

Nym remembered the rest of Ronas’ lecture, _“But there is a way to beat a spearman even with your disadvantage. A spear can only move in two directions; a slash or a stab. It doesn’t give much room to maneuver as a sword does. Wait for your chance patiently, anticipate their next attack, and act!”_

The rogue did exactly that. The Venatori stepped forward with a stab first, aiming for Nym’s neck. The elf twisted his torso to the side and dodged, stepping backwards. Another stab at his head and the elf dodged again, taking another step backwards and staying on the defensive. He saw the soldier’s posture change, only slightly. The way he moved his foot to the side to change his balance for a better swing, hinted to Nym the next attack will be a slash. The Venatori jerked the spear for a slash, but instead of stepping back again, the elf lunged forward at that moment. He passed the sharp spearhead and blocked at the wooden shaft with the insides of his forearms, then grabbed the spear before the startled Venatori had a chance to pull it back. He used one foot to stomp down on the shaft, jerking the spear out of the man’s hands, then quickly spun the weapon around until it was aimed at the barehanded soldier instead. Without pause, he stabbed the man in the stomach, hearing a painful gasp from the Venatori, then moved it sideways until the spearhead ripped the stomach open and flew out. His next attack slammed the spearhead on the man’s side-armor, pushing the dying man over the bridge.

He saw a group of Venatori soldiers running at him from a distance, but before they could reach him, lightning rained down on them – curtesy of Dorian. All four men were shocked by electricity and pierced through by lightning bolts. They fell like tin cans, their armors clattering noisily.

Cassandra noticed quick movement running towards Varric and Dorian and shouted to her allies, “Watch out! A Stalker on your left!” She started to run towards them, but knew she would never make it in time.

The Venatori Stalker tried to disguise her presence, but Dorian caught her movement just in time. The mage smirked, “Let’s see you stay hidden after this.” He raised his hand and the Stalker’s clothes caught on fire. The woman screamed in panic, trying to escape and put the fires out. “Varric,” Dorian started.

“I got her,” the dwarf reassured him. He used the flames as reference to know exactly where to aim his crossbow and fired three repetitive shots. All three bolts hit the target and the Stalker stopped her panicked screams, collapsing to the ground. 

Three soldiers rushed at the large Qunari, side by side. The Iron Bull turned his axe horizontally and used it like a bar, blocking all their attacks at once, then pressed against them. The soldiers darted their heads in confusion as he single-handedly pushed them back. Their feet slid against the floor until they reached the ledge of the bridge, and were shoved over it. Their screams echoed as they fell into the darkness. “That’s the last of ‘em,” the Qunari called out nonchalantly.

Nym looked around, seeing the gates most of the Venatori came from, “That must be our way up. Let’s move.”

As they rushed up the stairs, finally they reached another level of the castle and realized most of the rooms there were torture chambers. As much as Nym dreaded the fact that Leliana would be in one of those rooms with the Venatori doing Creators-know-what to her, he was also hopeful that they would find their spymaster. With Leliana’s competence, he knew their chances of succeeding in this endeavor would significantly rise. 

As predicted, it wasn’t long before they heard Leliana’s voice through one of the doors. Unfortunately, she wasn’t alone. And by the sound of it, if they didn’t hurry, there might not be a spymaster left to save.

He kicked the doors open with his foot, expecting a fight, but got a show instead. As soon as the Venatori torturer turned his attention to the intruders, Leliana took that chance to take him by surprise and wrap her legs around his neck.

“Urk,” the man made a surprised chocking sound. He struggled, panicked by his loss of air, but it was all in vain. Nothing could release Leliana’s vice-like grip on his throat, until the man’s struggles turned into a few weak twitches. Even that soon stopped.

“Leliana,” Nym exclaimed, quickly grabbing a key on the table, and went to unlock her shackles. He tried not to look at the assortment of torture weapons that were undoubtedly used on her.

“You’re alive,” the woman whispered in wonder. As soon as her wrists were released, she sagged against him. She looked even worse than his comrades currently dying of red lyrium poisoning. Her skin was pale and scraggy, and she appeared malnourished among other things. And yet, she stood before him with all the authority and strength that she always showed as the Inquisition’s Council member. She was truly one tough woman.

“It’s ok now. You’re safe. I am going to make this right. _All_ of it,” he promised her.  

The spymaster narrowed her eyes and there was hate burning inside them. “Forget _safe_. You need to end this. The Magister is probably in his chambers.” She didn’t wait for Nym’s reply before she rummaged through the assortment of weapons in the corner, then pulled out a bow and a full quiver.

Dorian raised an eyebrow at her, “You aren’t curious how we got here?”

“No.” The woman’s reply was instant. She was different than the Leliana from their time; harsher, more hateful and curt. Nym could see she went through a lot this past year.

“Alexius sent us into the future. This. His victory, his Elder One – it was never meant to be. We have to reverse his spell. If we can get back to our present, we can prevent this future from ever happening,” the mage decided to explain anyway.

Leliana glowered at him, “And mages always wonder why people fear them…No one should have this power.”

Dorian agreed, “It’s dangerous and unpredictable. Before the Breach, nothing we did-”

“Enough!” She cut him off sternly, not wanting to hear anymore. “This is all pretend to you! Some future you hope will never exist. I suffered. _The whole world_ suffered! It was real.”

Nymrodel glanced at the rest of the group and he saw pained expressions on their faces. It wasn’t just Leliana. Varric, Cassandra, Bull…they all suffered this past year. They all went through so much. For them, this was their present, it all really happened. In their lives, it was all real, as Leliana said. He could imagine why they would get upset hearing someone deny it all as if it never happened; dismiss it like it was just some mistake.

“You’re right,” he turned to her. “It was real, and we can’t even imagine what you all went through,” he stated with a somber expression, glancing at Dorian. “And I’m sorry it happened to you.” His saddened eyes turned to each of his comrades. “I won’t forget this…even if we return back to our time and reverse all of this, I won’t forget the suffering Alexius and this Elder One caused all of you. And I promise you, I will fight on so it never comes to pass in _our_ time. Unfortunately, that is all I can do for you.”

 The redhead sighed, “That is enough. Stop Alexius, reverse the spell and stop the end of the world, Herald…it is the only chance for this world. Don’t ever forget what will become of it if you fail,” she warned him with a stern look.

Nym gave her a determined nod, “I won’t. I promise.”

~…..~

The further into the Castle they went, the more Venatori they encountered, but luckily they managed to take most of them by surprise. It wasn’t just the Venatori either. Those strange time-shifting fade rifts and demons were all over the place. Even mages from Fiona’s mage rebellion joined Alexius and attacked them, crazed by blood magic.

Nym gasped when he saw that the Breach spread across the sky, swallowing everything. So much death and destruction managed to spread in only one year. No mortal war could have done this much damage – this was far beyond that. He got a first-hand experience what would happen if the Breach and the Venatori weren’t stopped and it hit him like a bucket of cold water; only now did he truly understand the severity of the situation and how important the Inquisition was in preventing all of this madness from happening. They were the only ones who had the power to act against it. The vanguard, standing on the brink and keeping the world from tumbling over into the Void.

By the time they reached the Magister’s chambers, Lavellan was ready to fight to the death if need be to return the world to how it should be. Yet what they found was a broken man, who has already given up on the world and any power he once wished to possess.

“Alexius,” he called out. He glared at the mage’s back, his heart burning with rage for everything he witnessed. Connor’s sacrifice to wade off demons, mages killing their friends for blood rituals, people tortured to death in the dungeons or being harvested for red lyrium…He decided to end it all _now_.

“I knew I hadn’t killed you,” the Magister started, without turning to face him. “I knew you would one day return. My final failure.” The man sighed and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now. All we can do is wait for the end.”

“I have no intention of waiting for the world to end,” Nymrodel hissed in anger.

Gereon continued as if he couldn’t even hear him, “All that I fought for, all that I betrayed, and what have a wrought? Ruin and death. There is nothing else. The Elder One comes – for me, for you, for all of us.”

Nym noticed Leliana snuck away from their group and hid in the shadows, creeping closer to the unsuspecting Magister. He hoped Alexius’ attention will be kept elsewhere for long enough before he notices her. Evidently, their spymaster had a plan.

“There is still a way! The amulet you used-,” Dorian started to explain when Leliana suddenly appeared at the Magister’s side. But she didn’t go for the mage.

“Felix, no!” Alexius shouted towards the young man Leliana now held hostage, keeping a knife at his throat.

Both Dorian and Nym widened their eyes in shock. Alexius’ son looked distorted and shriveled up, as if he was a corpse already. He barely looked human anymore.

“ _That_ is Felix? Maker’s breath, Alexius, what have you done!?”

“The Blight,” Gereon started. “He would have died, Dorian. I saved him!” He turned his attention to the redhead, “Please, don’t hurt my son. I’ll do anything you ask.”

Nym realized now was their best chance. “Give us the amulet and we will return Felix to you,” he promised. He didn’t like bargaining with hostages like some common criminal, but the fate of the world resided on his shoulders so he couldn’t be picky about his methods at the moment.

“Let him go and I swear you will get what you want!”

He thought it was a done deal, when he noticed Leliana’s hateful expression. Seeing the rage in her eyes, he realized she made a decision, and it wasn’t the one Alexius wanted. She was so consumed by revenge, she couldn’t see the bigger picture. “Leliana, wait-,” he called out, but it was too late.

“I want the world back,” the woman glowered and slit Felix’s throat without hesitation or remorse.

Alexius watched the only thing still important in his world perish in front of him. Everything he did, he did for his son – and now, it was all for naught. “Noooo!” His enraged scream echoed throughout the hall, before a blast of energy from his staff swept everyone off their feet.

Ignoring the pain in his ribs, Nym swiftly stood up and glared up at the mage. Right now the only thing that truly mattered was stopping him and taking the amulet. He unsheathed his daggers from his back and focused his attention on the seething mage.

“I will bring this world, _your_ world to an end, but not in the way you hope for. I will fix all of this, but I will _never_ forget all the pain you and your Elder One caused here,” the elf hissed in anger, preparing for the fight.

~……~

In his last few moments, Alexius desperately dragged himself across the ground, his vision solely focused on the dead body of his son near him. He stretched out his hand towards Felix, wanting to touch his son one last time and ask for his forgiveness, but never got the chance. Before he could reach him, his last breath left his body, and the Magister died.

Dorian walked over to the man and took the cubed amulet clutched in his other hand. He watched the man he once called friend with a sorrowful gaze. “He wanted to die, didn’t he? All those lies he told himself, the justifications…” He glanced over the blighted creature that was once Felix. “He lost Felix long ago and didn’t even notice. Once he was a man with whom I compared all others. Oh, Alexius…,” the mage sighed and shook his head, trying to hide his mournful expression.

Nym walked over to him, gazing at Gereon and the amulet. “This is what will become of him if we don’t stop Alexius from our time. But it’s still not too late, Dorian,” he comforted him.

He nodded and dangled the amulet in his hand, “This is the same amulet he used before. I think it’s the same one we made in Minrathous, so I should be able to reverse the spell. Just give me an hour to work out the spell he used and I should be able to reopen the rift.”

“An hour!?” Leliana interrupted them. “This is impossible, you must go now!”

“What are you talking about, we already took out Alexius-,” Nym started, only to get interrupted again, this time by a loud screech in the distance. The ground shook under their feet and the rogue looked around him, perplexed, _*An earthquake?!*_

“Uhh…what was that,” Dorian asked, his tone already suggesting he knew he wouldn’t like the answer.

“Remember that demon army and the Elder One we talked about,” Varric reminded them. “Well they’re here.”

Another screech echoed from the outside, this time louder. Whatever was coming, it was drawing closer – and fast.

“But I need time to open the time rift,” the mage exclaimed.

Cassandra, Varric and the Iron Bull exchanged silent glances. They nodded to each other, then slowly unsheathed their weapons again.

“We’re going outside to take out as many as we can,” Cassandra proclaimed. “Leliana, you stay here and be the last line of defense.” She gave the redhead a knowing look and the spymaster nodded, taking out her bow. “May Andraste guide us all,” the woman prayed.

The elf watched them all in bewilderment. “No, wait! If you go out there, you’ll die! There must be another way! If we block the doors or-,” his panicked rambling was cut off by Bull.

“Boss!” Nym instantly stopped and looked up at the Qunari with worried eyes, “Look at us…we’re already dead.”

Lavellan’s gaze traveled across his comrades and he knew the man was right. They all looked sickened with that red lyrium glow, already poisoned and slowly losing their senses to it.

“So let’s drag down with us as many of those assholes as we can,” the Qunari exclaimed through a growl.

Varric prepared Bianca in his hands, “I’m with you, Tiny.” He narrowed his eyes, glaring at the main gates of the hall where the loud crashing noises were coming from.

“But…,” the elf was still wavering, his arm reaching after his comrades as they walked towards the gates and their doom.

Dorian grabbed his shoulder to stop him, “I know it’s hard, but we need to begin. You have to come with me…you have to let them go.”

Before they exited the main hall, Bull called out to him, “And Boss!”

He turned to look at the man’s scarred back. “Thanks for giving us the opportunity to die fighting instead of just spending our final days rotting away in a cage.” He glanced behind his shoulder and gave the elf a confident grin before charging with his axe in hand, “Nehraa Qun!”

“Bull! Everyone!” He reached for them, but Dorian dragged him away to the spot where Alexius was standing when he opened the time rift. The stone doors of the throne room closed behind the trio, leaving only Leliana as their last defense.

The redhead nocked an arrow, “Cast your spell! You have as much time as I have arrows!”

Dorian begun preparations. He activated the amulet and the item levitated from his hands and to the air, spinning slowly in front of their faces. The glow from it started to intensify.

They could hear fighting coming from outside the doors, drawing closer. Clashing metal accompanied with inhuman screams filled their ears. Leliana calmed her hand, never once faltering in front of what was coming. She recited the Chant of Light out loud, as if drawing strength and courage from its words.

The doors blasted open, but the first to go through it weren’t the demons or the Venatori, but Nymrodel’s friends. A Terror demon tossed Varric’s dead body like he was a rag doll, and it rolled before Leliana’s feet. The spymaster let loose the first arrow, and it pierced the Terror’s eye. Cassandra’s and Bull’s bodies laid in front of the doors, trampled by the horde of various demons and the Venatori soldiers making their way inside. Still chanting, the spymaster shot arrow after arrow, each hitting its mark and ending her targets, but there were simply too many of them – and she was running out of arrows. 

Lavellan watched in horror as he saw his fallen friends. He remembered Leliana’s harsh words from earlier; _“This is just make believe for you! Not reality. A future you never wish to happen.”_ Yet as he watched his dead comrades, he felt dread and pain. The loss he felt was real. Raw. And tearing him inside with guilt.

He saw Leliana finally run out of arrows, but the woman didn’t cower before the abyss. Instead, she charged into the fray, slicing the demons with her dagger and using her bow as an additional weapon. 

Alas, she was no match for the enemy’s sheer numbers and the demons were slowly starting to overpower her. He saw a Venatori stab her through the shoulder, while a Terror demon approached from behind, ready to pierce her. “No!” With a shout, he reflexively moved to help her, knowing the demon would finish her off.

Dorian grabbed his hand hard enough to hurt and jerked him back. “If you move now, we all die!” The mage worked as quickly as he could and managed to open a portal that slowly started to grow in size.

Nym looked back at the mage, pain clear in his eyes as he gritted his teeth. He had to remind himself that this was all for the greater good. _*It’s not real. It’s not real. We will come back to our own time and everyone will be okay. It’s not real.*_ He kept repeating those words in his mind like a mantra. His first instinct was to risk everything and run into the battle to try and save his friends, but they were already beyond help and he needed to stay level-headed. He knew their only chance now was for him and Dorian to go back and make things right. 

His fearful eyes met with Leliana’s and the last thing he saw before Dorian pulled him into the rift was the Terror demon rising its clawed hand above her. The image of Leliana’s look in her eyes burned into his mind forever. There was hope there. A silent plea for him to stop all of this from happening.

In the next instant, both the rogue and the mage were transported back to the throne room of Redcliffe Castle, right in front of a very alive Alexius. Nym blinked in confusion, his head still spinning from the sudden change in ambience. What brought him back to reality were familiar voices that called out to him.

“Snow!”

“Nymrodel!

“Boss!”

He turned to see his three comrades, alive and well, all three with their weapons out and ready for battle. By the panting breaths it seemed they already started fighting Alexius just as Dorian and he arrived.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Dorian gloated at the other mage.

Lavellan turned his attention to the Magister, and suddenly everything that happened rushed back to his mind. He felt a surge of rage rise up in him and he closed the distance between them with a few quick strides. Grabbing the man’s collar tight enough to choke him, his other hand clenched into a fist. He wanted to kill this man before him, but then he noticed his expression. The Tevinter mage already appeared broken, realizing he had lost. He had no strength left and no power to oppose them. That, and the fact that everything Nym saw in the dark future hadn’t actually happened here – were the only reasons he stayed his hand.

“You are finished here,” he hissed hatefully to the Magister, letting go of his collar. As soon as he released him, Alexius crumpled to the ground.

“You won,” the man sighed. “There is no point extending this charade.” He gazed up at his son, hurt visible in his brown eyes. “Felix…”

His son crouched next to him, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked at his father lovingly, “It’s going to be alright father.”

The older man shook his head, “You’ll die…”

“Everyone dies,” Felix gave him a small smile.

Nym subtly glanced at Dorian after hearing this exchange, wondering if he knew what they were talking about. He saw his gaze fall down to the ground, a complicated expression on his handsome features.

Gereon walked over to Cassandra and some of the Inquisition soldiers. “I surrender to the Inquisition,” he announced, and didn’t resist when the soldiers took him away into custody.

Dorian walked over to his roguish friend, “Well I’m glad that’s over with.”

Of course whenever someone says that, usually exactly the opposite happens. They didn’t even have time to relax as the doors of the hall slammed open, and in came marching at least two dozen heavily armored soldiers.

“Oooor not,” Varric mumbled.

_*Oh, what now,*_ the Herald thought with exasperation. He wasn’t sure how much more excitement he could take today. 

 The soldiers in shining armor soon cleared a path, making way for the King of Ferelden to enter. Everyone gasped when they saw King Alistair Theirin making his way towards them, an obvious displeasure on his face.

“King Alistair,” Cassandra whispered to Nym in astonishment and he stiffened a little at the intimidating sight. Now even the King of Ferelden got involved and he was definitely not happy.

Lavellan never saw the King before, but the rumors about the former Grey Warden who helped the Hero of Ferelden slay the Archdemon traveled all the way to the Free Marches and beyond. There were many whispers about the late King Maric’s bastard son, who stopped the tyrannical rule of Loghain Mac Tir and his daughter. Some juicy rumors even stated that the reason why such a young, prosperous King still had no wife was because he was keeping the elven mage, Hero of Ferelden herself, as his mistress.

“Grand Enchanter,” the King started, turning his annoyed expression to Fiona. “Imagine how surprised I was to learn that you’d given Redcliffe Castle away to a Tevinter Magister.” The woman in question stepped forward, but kept her guilt-ridden gaze down on his feet. “Especially, since I’m fairly certain Redcliffe belonged to Arl Teagan!”

“Your Majesty, we never intended-,” the woman started, but her words were interrupted by the King.

Alistair glared at her, “I know what you _intended._ ” Seeing his words were becoming too harsh, he softened his expression. “I wanted to help you…but you’ve made it impossible.” He looked genuinely sorry for what he had to do. “You and your followers are no longer welcome in Ferelden.”

Fiona’s expression clearly showed she was slowly falling into despair. She was running out of options and her people depended on her. “But we have hundreds who need protection. Where will we go!?”

As if that was his cue, Nymrodel cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Your Majesty,” he made a small bow of his head as a polite greeting, before turning to Fiona. “We still need the mages to close the Breach,” he reminded.

The mage woman frowned at him with suspicion, “And what are the terms of this arrangement?”

“Hopefully better than what Alexius gave you,” Dorian interrupted. “The Inquisition is better than indentured servitude, yes?”

“I suggest we conscript them. The Mages have shown what they are willing to do given the chance,” the Seeker warned.

“I agree,” the Iron Bull muttered in agreement, glaring at the Grand Enchanter.

“Inquisition or not, you _will_ leave these lands,” Alistair stated, giving Fiona a warning look.

The mage woman looked back at the Herald. “It seems the Mages have little choice in the matter. We will join your Inquisition…in whatever way you see fit.”

The rogue elf watched her carefully, weighing his options in his mind. When he decided to start these negotiations with the Mages, not once did he want to turn them into his prisoners. From the start, what he wanted was allies to close the Breach. Why change that now?

“Yes, the Mages made a mistake by joining the Tevinters. They were desperate, and the Magister used that to his advantage. They are desperate now, too. But I am not Alexius. I will not do as he did,” he proclaimed. “The Mages will join the Inquisition as equal allies! We will be honored to have you fight at our side.”

Fiona appeared truly taken aback by his words. She didn’t expect anyone to give her a chance after what happened, especially a non-mage. “I hope the rest of the Inquisition honors that promise,” she glanced at Cassandra.

The warrior woman didn’t look pleased. Nym gulped at the scowl she was giving him. “We will discuss this later,” she said brusquely and left it at that.

“The Breach threatens all of us. We cannot afford to be divided now,” Lavellan added, hoping the others would see sense in his reasoning.

Fiona sighed, “So be it. The Mages will join your Inquisition. It would be madness no to. I will gather my people and ready them for the journey to Haven. The Breach will be closed. You will not regret giving us this chance.” Grateful, she smiled at him.

The rogue elf smiled brightly in return. For the first time in a while, it felt like things were finally proceeding as planned. This was it – one step closer towards sealing the Breach. Finally, he could see this long journey nearing its end. But a part of him whispered questions and doubts in the back of his mind; After the Breach is sealed, what then? Will he truly be able to return to his clan? Was that the best option anyway? And another part of him, somewhere in the dark, tugged his heart in fear. He remembered the last time he tried to close the Breach; it nearly killed him. Will finishing the job mean finishing him, as well? Will he even survive such an endeavor?

~……~

“It’s not a matter for debate! There will be abominations among the mages, and we must be prepared,” Cullen exclaimed angrily.

They didn’t even have time to return to the War Room before his advisors started to argue about everything that happened in Redcliffe – as if that could somehow change the outcome. The deed was done and the decision has been made, whether they agreed with it or not.

Josephine gave the Commander a warning look. “If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst!”

Nym gave them both a stubborn look. “I have no intention of rescinding that offer. I promised them and I stand by it!” He tried to sound as confident as he could, but he was aware that he didn’t have as much power in the Inquisition as he wanted to believe. After all, in his eyes, his only asset was this mark to close rifts on his hand. It was the only reason why he had enough leverage to bargain with the advisors. He hoped it would prove enough. 

Cullen’s anger turned to the elf, “What were you thinking, turning mages loose with no oversight!? The Veil is torn open!”

He pursed his lips, determined to stand his ground. “We need their cooperation for the Breach, and it would be better to have them work _with_ us as our allies than plot behind our backs as our prisoners,” he argued.

The former Templar exhaled loudly, but he calmed down a little. “I know we need them for the Breach, but they could do as much damage as the demons themselves!” He turned an accusatory gaze at Cassandra, “You were there, Seeker. Why didn’t you intervene?”

Nym frowned, feeling like Cullen was treating him as some child who needed to be controlled or supervised. He knew Cassandra most likely felt the same as Cullen, which won’t help matters now. Once again, the Inquisition’s advisors were divided in their opinions; it was a mystery how anything got done around here. He peered at her timidly, awaiting her response.

The woman stared at Nymrodel, watching him as she spoke, “While I may not completely agree with the decision, I support it. The sole point of the Herald’s mission was to gain the Mages’ aid, and that was accomplished.”

Nym blinked in surprise, completely caught off guard by her response. It was quite unexpected, and much more understanding than he thought it would be.

And he wasn’t the only one who thought that. “A voice of pragmatism speaks! And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.”

They all spun around to see Dorian, with that smug smirk of his, leaning against a wall. He watched them with an amused expression.

“Closing the Breach is all that matters,” the Seeker proclaimed, but Nym wondered if it was truly that simple. He would have instantly agreed with her two months ago, but now after helping the Mages, he learned that the Inquisition’s every move, _their_ move, had significant consequences to the world. Did their actions not already bring change to much of Thedas, without even mending the sky yet?

He looked back at Cullen, trying to stay collected, and resolve the situation with reason. “It’s not like I’m suggesting to simply let the mages run amok and do whatever they want here. Cullen, I want us to meet Grand Enchanter Fiona and coordinate an appropriate level of oversight for the Mages together. I’m sure we can come to a mutual agreement. But it _won’t_ be like in the Circles and we _won’t_ have former Templars pressing down on them,” he warned, narrowing his eyes at the Commander to emphasize his words. That was the whole reason why the Mages rebelled in the first place so he had no intention of putting them back into that position. “We can put Lysette in charge of their supervision, I trust her,” he suggested.

Cullen closed his eyes for a while as if thinking it over, then nodded, “As do I.” He sounded defeated and tired. They all had enough of arguing, including him. “Very well.”

Nym’s gaze traveled across his advisors carefully, “I saw what is at stake if we fail to close the Breach. We can’t fail at this. We need to close it as soon as possible.”

The advisors nodded in agreement. Leliana spoke, “We should look into the things you saw in this “dark future.” The Assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?”

“Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do. Orlais falls, the Imperium rises. Chaos for everyone,” Dorian exclaimed.

“Those Venatori mean business,” Nym muttered, then turned to their spymaster, “I’ll leave you to investigate it then. Try to learn more about them.”

“One battle at a time,” the Commander warned. “It will take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits. Let’s take this to the War Room.” Turning to Nym, he gave a polite smile, “Join us. None of this means anything without your mark, after all.”

_*As I suspected, this mark is the only real merit I have for the Inquisition,*_ Nym confirmed sourly. He nodded to them, but then glanced at Dorian still waiting at the side. “Give me a minute. I’ll meet you there.”

The advisors and Cassandra left for the War Room, leaving Nym to speak in private with the mage.

Dorian smirked, “I’ll skip the War Council, but I would like to see this Breach up close, if you don’t mind. Well, not that they invited _me_ for the planning, anyway,” he added, jestingly.

Nym raised an eyebrow, “So you’re staying with us?”

He chuckled, “Oh, didn’t I mention? The South is so charming and rustic. I adore it to little pieces.”

Remembering Dorian’s sour face at the ‘Singing Maiden,’ the elf doubted that was true.

“I hope there won’t be an issue between us…considering our people’s history,” Dorian subtly continued, giving the Dalish a knowing look.

“You mean the fact Tevinter destroyed Arlathan, conquered my people and made them into slaves?” Nym wore an innocent expression as he asked, purposely poking at the mage.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, “I was trying to be delicate about it, but yes, _that_.”

At that moment, the Iron Bull’s words when he spoke about Krem being from Tevinter echoed in his mind; _“I can get worked up about a group or a nation just fine, but people…It’s too much work to hate them one by one.”_ The elf chuckled, surprising Dorian by doing so. “Don’t worry. I prefer to judge people based on their actions, not their nationalities. If it’s true you want to stop the Venatori and…how did you say it – “not be the villainous cliché everyone expects you to be,” then you and I will have no problems working together,” he reassured the mage with a smile. To show there was no ill will, the Dalish offered the Tevinter his hand.

Dorian smirked and took it, eyeing the elf before him as they shook hands.

“Welcome to the Inquisition,” Nymrodel smiled.

* * *

 

Glossary:

_Nehraa Qun!_ \- For the Qun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one was fun to write...but also so heart-wrenching! I like the Dark Future Arc, but that moment when your companions all die just gets me right in the feels every time.  
> I hope you liked the chapter! I worked pretty hard on this one, especially the fighting scenes. :)


	12. Victory and Defeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! A new chapter is up and this one's a long one. :D This one was really interesting to write, so I hope you like it! Enjoy!  
> I'm sorry if there are any spelling mistakes I might have missed; if you see any, just let me know and I'll fix them.

 

The War Room was even busier than usual, with Lavellan, Cassandra and the three advisors making the final plans to move towards the Breach. Finally, everything was prepared.

“Our troops and the mages are ready, Herald. Everything is prepared for our departure to the Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Cullen announced.

Leliana turned towards Nym, “We do not know how the Breach will affect you. It would be best to have all your affairs put in order before we go.” There was an allusive, yet concerned look in her eyes.

“You mean in case the Breach kills me,” his gaze fell, a darkening expression on his face.

“Leliana! I’m sure everything will be fine,” their ambassador tried to assure him, casting a warning glance to her spymaster friend, but it sounded unconvincing even from her, who made a carrier out of persuading people.

“No, they’re right,” the elf interjected. He looked at Josephine, “I have a favor to ask of you, lady ambassador.”

“Of course. Anything.”

He procured a letter from his jacket and handed it to her. It was addressed to Keeper Istimaethoriel. “Can you make sure this letter is sent to my clan?”

Josephine hesitated only for a second. She wanted to tell him to keep it and send it to his Keeper himself after everything was over, but a part of her knew that was just wishful thinking. The more realistic side of her was aware Nymrodel might not get the chance to do so. She took the letter with a nod, “You have my word this letter will reach them.”

“The sun is already low. I suggest we march at the morrow, with first light,” their Commander added, hoping to break the dismal tension in the room.

 “Understood,” Cassandra agreed, ready to dismiss the War Council.

Leliana’s words echoed in Nym’s mind as he walked out of the room; “ _Put all your affairs in order.”_ Yet he realized, other than getting word to his Clan in case these are his last living moments, all his _other business_ was in Haven already. The Inquisition was the first thing he served outside his Clan. The first thing he was a part of or cared about.

He was on his way out of the Chantry when he heard loud voices arguing in the hall. He could see nervous expressions on the faces of Chantry clerics, but none of them dared to approach the arguing couple. Knowing how important it was to keep the order in the Inquisition, especially now when the mages and former templars worked together under the same banner, Nymrodel couldn’t just stay uninvolved.

Curious, he drew closer to the heated voices until he found the reason why everyone were so hesitant to interfere with the arguing parties – because they were the former Grand Enchanter Fiona and the Imperial Enchantress Vivienne.  

“Fiona, dear, I don’t know what the Inquisition promised you, but if you think the rebel mages will be able to self-govern without there being serious repercussions as in abominations and blood magic, then you are even more naïve than I thought.” Vivienne’s voice echoed in the Chantry hall, and as collected as it sounded, there was a vicious and poisonous tone in it.

“We are not children, Madame Vivienne. We are fully capable of taking care of ourselves,” Fiona argued, a strain in her voice.

“I believe you have proven otherwise,” Vivienne tersely answered.

Nymrodel watched the two argue, feeling his strength drain just from listening to them. He needed to stop them before the argument got too heated. The last thing they needed now was a divide in their forces, especially the mages.

“I want the mages protected just as much as you do, but I know best that mages need to be protected from themselves as well as outsiders,” Vivienne pointed out. “The loyalist mages are aware of this. They serve the people, instead of their own gains, unlike you and your lot,” she hissed.

“Ha!” Fiona snorted at that. “The only thing you ever served, Imperial Enchanter, is yourself and your own interests. The Loyalists are nothing but cowards, too afraid of change and to make a stand for once in their lives!”

Vivienne’s eyes narrowed dangerously, a cold fury in her dark orbs. “But _you_ know better,” she asked mockingly. “You, whose decisions led to so much death and scrutiny of our kind – the same ones you claim to protect.”

“Alright, that’s enough, both of you!” Nym decided to step in before the argument could complicate things further. They were starting to attract attention and he didn’t want the people here to start taking sides. He stepped in between them to prove a point, switching his glare from one mage woman to the other.

“Herald,” the Grand Enchanter exclaimed in surprise. “The Mages did not come here to be subjected to this…scorn.”

“As I see it, you came here because you had no other choice, my dear. That is where your leadership got the rebel mages,” Madame de Fer commented with clear contempt towards the Grand Enchanter.

“I said enough!” Nym’s annoyed voice rang out through the Chantry hall. A few anxious heads turned in his direction. He let out an exasperated sigh, speaking in a low voice, “We are all on the same side here and we should work together. Arguing amongst ourselves is hardly productive.”

He turned to the Imperial Enchanter, “Madame Vivienne, I know you think the Circles should be restored, but do you truly believe things can just return back to how they used to be after everything that’s happened between the Mages and the Templars?” He saw the woman frown, but she didn’t argue. Taking that as a good sign, he continued, “It’s impossible. Forcing mages back into their old lives would just cause them to rebel all over again. There are too many scars now. Things can’t go back to how they used to be anymore. Too much has happened.”

“With proper leadership, they would follow,” Vivienne answered with confidence.

Nym wasn’t as convinced. “How would you make them go back? Would you imprison them back into the Circles? Execute everyone who rebels or make them Tranquil? That would only cause more deaths and more unrest,” he stated firmly.

“That’s right!” Fiona backed him up. “The mages will not be forced under Templar rule again. We would die first!”

Lavellan clicked his tongue when he heard her hasty response. He turned towards the Grand Enchanter this time, giving her the same firm stare he gave Madame de Fer, “And you, Grand Enchanter. Saying mages should be free is a nice sentiment, but have you even thought about what that means? How will you implement that reform? Calling out for Mage freedom is a good rallying cry, but have you even considered how to make that work once the rebellion ended? Will they govern themselves? What measures would you install to prevent blood magic and corruption? What will you do for young children when their magic manifests? I agree Templars taking children from their homes and families was extreme, but they would still need to be put in another’s care lest they hurt someone. Would you arrange schools for mages?” He bombarded her with questions, knowing full well she had no answers to give.

Fiona opened her mouth, but closed it again when she realized she couldn’t respond.

“It seems you didn’t think this through, my dear,” Vivienne gloated. “Just like you didn’t think things through before you started the uprising. Perhaps if you suggested a reform for the Mages, with a plan first, and at some other time when the Chantry wasn’t destroyed by a mage, we wouldn’t be in this position now,” she continued. Her expression didn’t show any anger, but there was obvious malice in her words.

Nym sighed, “The point is; the rebellion already happened and there’s nothing we can do to change that. But we can find a compromise once all of this is over. Isn’t that also what the Devine wanted?” He knew bringing up Justinia would calm down the two women. They both respected the Devine and wouldn’t continue this spat knowing it would be against the Most Holy’s wishes. It was clever of him to get her involved, knowing she was the bridge to end hostilities. Even in death, her name still carried such weight.

The two women glanced at him as he mentioned the Devine. A guilty expression crossed Fiona’s features, while Vivienne only looked irked but said no more on the matter. Finally, they both exchanged looks, mentally agreeing to put their differences behind them…for now at least.

“I suppose we should find some way to coexist,” Vivienne suggested with an overly-dramatic sigh.

“At least until the Breach is closed,” Fiona added, glowering at the Imperial Enchantress.

The elven rogue was relieved, feeling he could finally move from between them. At least the two women won’t be at each other’s throats until the sky is mended. “Now if you’ll excuse me…,” he started, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible. He could feel the inquisitive stares around them burning on his back. The trio attracted quite a crowd during their scene.

“Very well. I should get back to my business,” the Grand Enchanter said, but her nod was only directed at Nymrodel. She barely glanced towards the other woman as she left.

“It was clever of you to use Justinia’s name to pacify the situation,” Vivienne called out to Nym as he turned to leave. “But I doubt such manipulation will work again.”

He glanced at her over his shoulder, “I’m just glad you saw reason, Madame Vivienne. This is no time to be divided and fight amongst ourselves. I don’t like to use manipulation or underhanded methods for my gains, but I will if my hand is forced.” He gave her a knowing look before leaving the Chantry.

Vivienne chuckled as she watched the elf leave. “You misunderstand, my dear. I am impressed. Perhaps you have some talent for the Game without even realizing it,” the woman murmured with a shrewd smile.

~…..~

When Nym entered the Singing Maiden, he was greeted with cheerful greetings of his comrades and other Inquisition soldiers. Since they acquired the mages, the numbers in the tavern only increased. He saw a large table in the corner that his companions occupied. Varric, Sera, the Iron Bull, Krem, Dorian, Blackwall and even Cassandra welcomed him with their tankards raised.

He laughed, the bleak thoughts of what was to come momentarily leaving his mind. Joining them, he ordered a mug of ale and sat between Bull and Blackwall.

“Your Worship,” the Warden called out. “Bull and Lieutenant Aclassi were just sharing some of their company’s stories.”

“Everything from encountering bandits to magic trees. I gotta use some of that stuff for my books,” Varric grinned.

“You better credit me in the acknowledgements for it,” Bull asserted.

Nym leaned forward towards Krem, his eyes sparkling with interest, “Did you say magic trees? You fought Sylvans?”

“Oh, you know of them,” Krem started.

“Before that experience I had no idea spirits can also possess trees.” The Iron Bull grunted in repulsion at the thought, as his Lieutenant continued the story.

“Some noble in the Dales – and they _really_ don’t like it when you call them Dalish nobles – had a haunted forest. His family had abandoned the land, but he wanted it back. The Chief bought us all axes, and in he went,” he gave a grin to Bull at the memories.

Bull chuckled. “Between the axes and the torches, the Sylvans’ weren’t too bad. Especially since we had…an archer with fire arrows,” he explained, remembering how Dalish shot fireballs that set the Sylvans ablaze.

“The worst part was the squirrels,” Krem grimaced, shuddering at the bad memory.

“Amazing, to even fight against Sylvans... I wish I could see them. I only heard about them from Old Maven in my Clan,” Nym muttered in awe.

“Ugh, what’s so amazin’? They’re demon trees,” Sera exclaimed with a disgusted expression.

Bull gave him a skeptical look. “Yeah, I don’t think you’d be astonished for long after they try to crush you with their branches and roots. Still, it was a good fight; hacking at them with my axe, splinters flying everywhere in your face,” the Qunari gave out a hearty laugh.

Blackwall also laughed beside them, “Now I wish _I_ was there to see it!”

“I don’t get you people; what’s so great about flying into certain death, trying to avoid your enemies from crushing you,” Dorian sighed. The mage was used to fighting from the back, setting on fire anything that drew too close. Half of his Necromancer studies used spells to draw the enemy _away_ from him. He didn’t see the appeal of fighting in the front lines.

“Ha! You think Sylvans were big! Let me tell you about the time we baited a giant,” the Qunari started, grinning widely. His dark grey eye glinted with excitement as he told his stories, and so did the eyes of everyone listening to him.

Nym listened to the Qunari talk, laughing or staring in wonder while the man told them of the Chargers’ adventures. “And then Rocky got a _brilliant_ idea to…,” Bull continued. The elf noticed his wide grin every time he talked about one of his men, like a proud father boasting about his child, and he couldn’t help but give a soft smile. It was so obvious their Qunari boss cared deeply for all of his men. Nym just hoped he’d get the chance to properly meet all of them before all of this is over.

While Krem and Bull talked about the Chargers, Dorian turned to Nym. “I hear you’ve also become quite famous.”

Nymrodel raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

The mage chuckled, “With every endeavor, more and more people are talking about you, and the tales they tell in Haven are becoming quite grandiose.”

He rolled his eyes. “Most of them are completely exaggerated.”

Just then, his sharp hearing picked up on hushed whispers behind them. A few recruits sat at another table, glancing at him and his loud group.

“That’s the Herald of Andraste, right?”

“No way. What would he be doing here in the tavern with us _little people_ ,” the other asked skeptically.  

“I’m telling you, it’s him! A Dalish elf, no less! I heard he singlehandedly defeated a whole army of Tevinter magisters.”

“I heard if ya mention he has a girly face, he’ll beat ya to a pulp and cut off yer balls, then ask “Who’s girly now?” Another recruit whispered.

Nym blushed, burying his face in his hands. _*I can’t believe these rumors are circling around…,*_ he thought in desperation.

It seems he wasn’t the only one who heard the hushed talk because Dorian started laughing loudly, both because of the incredulous rumors and Nym’s reaction to them.

Meanwhile, the conversation around the table continued.

“I’m a bit sorry the Chargers won’t be able to join you tomorrow at the Breach,” Krem spoke.

“You’re going to Therinfal Redoubt, instead,” Dorian asked for confirmation on the rumors he heard.

Aclassi nodded. “The templars at Therinfal Redoubt went quiet while the Inquisition dealt with Redcliffe, which is pretty suspicious, so I’m taking the Chargers out to investigate the area.”

“You don’t want to go with them?” Nym turned to the Qunari as he asked, his embarrassment from before momentarily forgotten.

“Nah, Krem can handle it. Besides, I did say you’re getting me as your frontline bodyguard, so stayin’ by _your_ side is pretty much a requisite for that,” the man chuckled. 

Fidgeting beside him, Nym smiled nervously. Suddenly he felt a bit bashful, hearing Bull call himself _his_ bodyguard, although he couldn’t quite put a finger on why.

Just then, another voice broke the lively chatter at their table. “Aren’t we supposed to have celebratory drinks _after_ we succeed,” Cullen asked with a laugh as he joined them.

A thought wormed its way into Nym’s mind, reminding him he might not have the chance to celebrate with them afterwards if he didn’t survive the ordeal tomorrow. He pushed it further to the back of his mind.

“Curly, you came!” The dwarf exclaimed with a wide smile.

“You invited the Jackboot,” Sera asked.

“I did, yeah. Figured if there was one man who needed a break before we close that shit in the sky, it’s Curly here,” Varric smirked.

“Colorfully put,” the Commander chuckled.

“So here is for a good sword arm and Andraste’s guidance tomorrow,” Cassandra smiled, rising her cup.

“Or a dagger arm and having the Creators on our side,” the elf grinned, rising his mug.

“Or a staff arm and a bit of luck,” Dorian added.

“Hey I don’t need luck as long as I have Bianca by my side,” Varric corrected with a chuckle.

“Ugh,” Cassandra shook her head at his strange fixation with his weapon.

The group all raised their tankards and knocked them together with a cheer.

~…..~

As Nym slowly walked back to his cottage to end the night and get a good night’s rest for tomorrow, he was surprised to see someone waiting for him near it. It didn’t take long to recognize the short orange hair and two pointy ears similar to his.

“Athelle,” he called out in question. “What are you doing here? It’s freezing!”

Smiling shyly, the elven woman kept her head down and only glanced at him from time to time. “Um…You’re Worship, I know I’m a bother, but…I just wanted to wish you luck with the Breach tomorrow. And a safe journey there and back,” she finally gathered the courage to say it.

He blinked in wonder, but then smiled gently. “Thank you. And you are definitely not a bother.”

The girl still looked worried, though. “Will you…be alright, tomorrow?”

Nym glanced to the side nervously, a bead of sweat on his brow. He scratched the back of his neck as he pondered over it. “I guess? I don’t know to be honest. I have hope I will make it through,” he answered honestly.

She gave him a desperate look, “But! But you are the Herald of Andraste! Surely She will not let you fall!”

He sighed, _*So even she believes in that whole Andraste business.*_

“Please…,” Athelle started. “Please be safe. You must come back. You must!” She sounded desperate as she pleaded with him. For what? His own life? Yet, it was out of his hands. 

Nym was taken aback by her reaction. She had never spoken to him so boldly before. So openly. He wished he could reassure her, but there was nothing he could say that would put her mind at ease and be the truth at the same time. He watched her teary big eyes, and focused on the small freckles on her cheeks.

He gently put his hands on her small shoulders, hoping to calm her down. She flinched a bit, stiffened by the contact, but then relaxed. “Everyone is counting on me so I need to do my best. I need to do whatever it takes to close the Breach. It will be dangerous, I won’t lie to you. But…I also don’t want to die. I will fight to close the Breach, but I will also fight for my life. I refuse to let this mark on my hand be the end of me. That is the best I can promise you,” he gave her a determined smile. “We all need to be brave now. You too.”

She gazed up at him in interest, then something in her eyes changed. The look became more determined, stronger. That was good. It meant she understood what he was trying to tell her. She bowed her head to him, speaking without faltering or stuttering this time, “Come back to us, Your Worship.”

For a moment, it almost sounded like she wanted to say ‘come back to _me_ ,’ but Nym disregarded that thought as his imagination. She gave him one more bow before running off without looking back. There was a hot blush staining her cheeks and ears as she ran, but Nym only attributed that fact to the cold outside.

~….~

Lavellan walked between the rubble of the Temple, where only two months ago he was pulled out as the only survivor. He was a prisoner then, suspect for assassinating the Devine and everyone else that died at the Conclave. Yet now, he returned as a proud agent of the Inquisition, the very organization that once imprisoned him and accused him of those crimes. He couldn’t help but ponder at the irony; how things have changed in such a short time.

_*And all because of this mark on my hand,*_ he thought, staring at it. It was shining brightly now as if connected to the Breach that they approached. The closer to the tear they came, the brighter the mark became.   

He walked down to what was once a courtyard of the Temple and stared up at the great tear in the sky right above him. It crackled and shifted, as if alive, just like the minor versions of it before he closed them. But will he be able to close something this massive? He remembered how exhausted he was after closing a few fade rifts a day, and wondered what this one will do to him? He swallowed hard, but found his resolve as he looked behind him to see an army of mages standing at the ready. They were all prepared to lend him their power and he wasn’t about to let them down.

A firm hand on his shoulder startled him and he saw Cassandra, “We are ready.”

“How is this going to work exactly?”

“The mages will give you their power and charge your mark with enough energy to close the Breach,” Solas explained as he joined them. “In theory, at least,” he admitted.

Grimacing, Nym muttered, “Let’s not think of the alternative.”

“We should proceed,” Cullen called out to them as the group prepared.

Rising his staff high in the air, the elven apostate walked before the mages and addressed them, “Mages! Focus past the Herald! Let his will draw from you!”

With his command, the mages moved - each sending their power towards Lavellan.

Nym headed forward, further towards the Breach. The closer he came to the ripped Veil, the louder his mark crackled. The more intensely it radiated. The swirl of energy around the rift pushed him backwards, but he pressed on. His mark started to hurt, going completely wild by the presence of the Breach. It burned on his left palm, but even so, he continued.

He raised his marked hand in the air, channeling all its power towards the Breach. He felt the familiar pull when the connection established, but it was much stronger than with any fade rift he faced before. His whole body shook, and he could feel the energy course through him. Then the drain begun.

Nym felt the weakness slowly wash over him. The mark threatened to drain him of all his strength. A part of him could feel that even his life was seeping through the mark and into the Breach. He gritted his teeth from the pain in his left hand, but his blue eyes blazed with determination.

_*I will not break this connection no matter what! I will close this Breach and protect everyone!*_ That promise to himself echoed inside his mind. He grunted in pain, falling to one knee, but still keeping his hand raised towards the Breach.

The faces of his Clanmates flashed through his mind. Keeper Desha, Varalhen, Gelen, Brilwyn and their young daughter…Everyone from the Clan Lavellan smiled back at him, as if giving him strength. But it wasn’t just them. He saw his mentor, Ronas Cale, nodding at him with a knowing look. Silently telling him they both knew what needed to be done. He saw Zatvel and the poor elves of the alienage, whose future was still uncertain. He saw thousands of faces; refuges in the Hinterlands, soldiers in Haven, citizens of Val Royeaux – all depending on him in this moment to heal the sky. And finally, he remembered his companions in the Inquisition. His comrades, friends, advisors; who fought and bled alongside him. Everyone rested their hopes on his shoulders, and he couldn’t disappoint them. He wouldn’t!

With a loud cry, both from pain and resolution, Nym concentrated all his will on the enormous rift, sending all his energy towards it. He wasn’t a mage, and he didn’t know much about the fade, like Solas. He barely even understood the mark on his hand. Yet somehow, he knew exactly what he needed to do. The combined power of the mages and his mark surged through him, going up to the Breach. The rift crackled loudly. It was a deafening sound, and the bright green shine hurt his eyes. With one final rumble, the Breach shone brightly - overcharged with energy - and then burst. The blow from the massive rift sent everyone flying backwards.

The elf grunted as he hit the ground, feeling his whole body going numb as it was overcome with weakness. The Breach took almost all of his strength away, rendering him powerless. But as he looked up at the scarred sky, he knew he made it. He closed the Breach, and he even lived through to see it. A wide smile slowly spread across his face as he stared at the sky, still lying on the ground since he was too weak to move. He started laughing from relief. He was alive. Against all odds, he survived this.   

Cassandra was the first to run towards him.

“Hey, Cass,” he greeted weakly, that weary smile still plastered on his features. He felt sweat on his forehead and neck, and he took labored breaths, but he _was_ breathing and that’s what mattered.

As soon as the warrior saw him move, she exhaled in relief. “You did it.” She helped him up and Nym stood on shaky legs.

They heard cheering from behind as everyone started to realize what happened – the Breach was closed and they were saved.

Cullen jogged over to them and put Nym’s other arm around his shoulder for support. “It seems they already started celebrating,” he chuckled.

Nym smirked, “When we get back…drinks are on me.”

~…..~

As it turned out, Nymrodel didn’t have to buy anyone drinks. Quite the opposite. There wasn’t a man or woman in whole of Haven who didn’t offer to treat him to a drink. The word of Inquisition’s success spread quickly - not only throughout Haven, but whole of Thedas. One only had to look up at the sky to see proof of it.

By the time Nymrodel and the mages returned to Haven in the evening, the celebration was already well underway. The loud music played while people sang and danced around bonfires, drinks and food in their hands. There wasn’t a soul in Haven who wasn’t smiling joyously. Even apothecary Adaan, known for his crass attitude, laughed drunkenly.

Nym gazed down at the scene, standing near the Chantry gates. A soft smile warmed his expression despite the cold night in the mountains, but there was a lot on his mind. During his time in the Inquisition, and today when his life hung in the balance, he realized something; that this was only the beginning for him.

He recognized the sound of heavy footsteps strolling towards him so he wasn’t surprised when he saw the Seeker join him.

“Solas confirms the heavens are scarred, but calm,” she reported. “The Breach is sealed. We have reports of lingering rifts and many questions remain, but this was a victory.” She glanced at him and smiled in satisfaction, an expression she rarely showed. “Word of your heroism has spread.”

He glanced back at her with a grateful smile, “It wasn’t just my victory. I would never be able to do it without all of you with me. Guiding me, helping me…this is as much your success as it is mine.”

The woman huffed, “Perhaps. Still, you were the one who garnered an alliance with the mages, and many more. With the Breach closed, this alliance will need knew focus.” She gave him a knowing look.

 Nym watched her carefully, his mind filled with thoughts. Iron Bull was right when he said the Inquisition wouldn’t simply end with the Breach closed.

“What will you do now? Return to your Clan?” Cassandra prompted him with questions. “The Inquisition still needs you.”

Nym raised an eyebrow, “ _Me_ or my mark?”

She sighed in chagrin, “The Mark might be what helps you close the rifts, but do not belittle your part in all of this. It had to take someone special to succeed in everything you have, Mark or not. Besides, I do not believe it is a coincidence that the Mark came to _you_ of all people, even if you don’t agree.”

The elf hummed at her words, gazing back down at the people celebrating. “I’ve…already decided what I want to do.” He saw her watch him with interest, trying to guess his next words.

He thought about it a lot ever since they came back from Val Royeaux and he had his conversation with Leliana. He recalled her words about using the Inquisition’s influence to change the world. He remembered his vow to Zatvel that he will help the elves in his alienage, but also a promise to himself that he wanted to do more for _all_ the alienages out there. He also wanted to help the refugees hurt by the mage-templar war who lost everything, like Athelle did. And he knew all of that was possible only if he stayed with the Inquisition. How could he possibly go back to his Clan now and turn his back on all those people?

“I’m going to stay with the Inquisition. Help rebuild the lands after the war and help as many people as I can. Besides, there are still a lot of fade rifts and roaming demons left out there,” he explained. “I can’t turn my back on all of them now.”

Cassandra smiled and nodded in understanding, “I am glad that you decided to stay.”

“Do you think the Inquisition will one day be powerful enough to change the world,” Nym asked suddenly, surprising the Seeker.

“Aren’t we changing it already?”

The elf chuckled, “Yes. I suppose you’re right.”

“But be careful, Nym. Mother Giselle told you that the Inquisition of old did what needed to be done and then laid down their arms when the time for it came. The Inquisition was formed to broker peace and order in time of war, but we can’t use its influence lightly for our own goals. It is not here for our own ends. That only leads to corruption,” the warrior warned him.

He sighed, “I know. I understand that…But if we can’t make the world a better place, then what are we fighting for? What was the point of saving this world, if it just stays filled with suffering,” he asked in a mutter, still thoughtfully staring at the people bellow. He wondered if the elves in the alienages were celebrating this happily tonight, or was their night as equally dreary as all the others before the Breach was closed.  

Cassandra frowned as she glanced at him, opening her mouth to say something, but she never got the chance as the bell sounding the alarm started to toll. The two exchanged perplexed looks before they headed down towards Haven gates, running as fast as their legs would carry them.

Cullen and Josephine were already there, staring up at the mountains where numerous torch lights swarmed like ants towards Haven.

“Cullen? We’re under attack!?” Cassandra approached the Commander, her sword already unsheathed.

“It’s a massive force. The bulk over the mountain,” he pointed towards the army charging down.

“Under what banner,” Josephine asked.

The former Templar only shook his head, “None.”

“None?” Everyone exclaimed in equal surprise.

Nymrodel was the first to pick up on strange sounds right outside the town gates. Fighting and then… _*Footsteps?*_ He stepped forward, then flinched at the sudden pounding on the wooden gates. It didn’t sound like the crashing noises of enemies trying to break the gates down. Instead, it was more akin to knocking.  

“I can’t come in unless you open,” a muffled voice sounded from the other side.

He glanced back at his advisors who all had suspicion written all over their faces. Nobody knew how to react, so he decided to take a chance. He rushed to the gates and unbarred them. As soon as he opened them, he regretted it when he saw a large warrior walking towards him. But then he realized something was amiss. The man was moving sluggishly, too slow for it to be a surprise attack. His eyes focused when he saw the warrior fall, a young man standing behind him with two bloodied daggers. A large hat hid the blonde’s face from view, until he lifted his head to look at Nym with two big blue eyes burning into the elf.

“Who are you,” Nym asked, his guard up.

“I’m Cole, I came to warn you. To help! People are coming to hurt you…you probably already know,” the young man explained in a hurry. He looked straight into Nym’s eyes, “The Templars come to kill you.”

“Templars!?” Cullen responded before Nym could. He looked back at the elf, “Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the Mages – attacking blindly?”

Yet there was no answer Nym could give him. “I don’t know any more than you do.”

Cole continued, “The Red Templars went to the Elder One.”

Nym was startled by that name as recognition crossed his face. Once again, the Elder One was being mentioned when chaos reigned, just like in Redcliffe.  

 “You know him,” the young blonde asked when he saw Nym’s expression. “He knows _you_. You took his mages.” He pointed at the top of the mountain where two figures stood. “There.”

The group had to squint their eyes to see all the way above, but Nymrodel’s sharp elven vision helped. The shapes were barely recognizable, but it seemed his Commander did recognize someone.

“Samson,” Cullen gasped.

“He’s very angry that you took his mages,” Cole added, still staring at the elf.

Meanwhile, Lavellan’s attention was on his Commander, a desperate look in his eyes. “Cullen, give me a plan! Anything!” He saw the large force coming down from that mountain and knew Haven would be overrun in a matter of hours even with all the Inquisition soldiers fighting. They were simply outnumbered. But if anyone could turn the odds in their favor with a good battle strategy, it would be Cullen.

The ex-templar shook his head, “Haven is no fortress. If we want to contain this monster of an army, we must control the battle. Get out there and hit their force with everything you can,” he pointed at Haven’s trebuchets. They were their main defense and the only chance they got. The Commander unsheathed his sword and turned to his men. The Inquisition soldiers, along with the mages, managed to regroup as all stood in defense of Haven now.

“Mages, soldiers! You have sanction to engage them! That is Samson - he won’t make it easy. Inquisition, with the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!” He called out, gazing at Lavellan as he raised his sword and riled up their forces.

Nym nodded at him and turned back to stare at the incoming army, unsheathing his dual daggers.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be doing it alone, Snow,” Varric called out and strolled over to the elf with a smirk and Bianca resting on his shoulder.

Nym blinked in surprise as he saw all of his comrades approach.

“If this is not the time to stand together and fight, I don’t know when is,” Cassandra added, taking her shield in her hands.

“Just point me in the direction of who I need to take down,” Warden Blackwall called out.

“Yeah! Let’s pound these assholes into the ground,” the Iron Bull grinned, taking his large axe in his hands.

Sera, Vivienne, Dorian and Solas also joined them, prepared for a hard battle yet showing no fear. Even the strange young man decided to help, pulling out his daggers again.

~….~

They split into three groups, each moving to the different side of the battlefield to harass the incoming force on the frontlines. Nym, Bull, Varric and Dorian managed to get to the trebuchets - their true aim - and fire at the enemies. And for just a moment, Nymrodel believed that this plan could truly work. As he watched the trebuchets bombard the incoming army, sending rocks onto the bulk of the Templar force until a powerful avalanche swept the Templars and carried them to their deaths, he felt a sliver of relief rise inside of him. He heard the Inquisition soldiers cheer, feeling the same optimism.  

And then that moment was lost.

 Dorian was the first to notice it, “What is that?” A figure flying through the air, yet too quick and too large to be a bird. As it drew closer, it let out a deafening screech that froze the blood in their veins. It sounded familiar and soon Nym remembered where he heard such a horrible noise before – in the ‘Dark Future’ when they were attacked.

 His eyes widened when he realized what that winged form truly was – a dragon. The thought of what will follow hit him quickly and he yelled at his men, “Everyone, move! Get down!”

Just as they jumped to the side, covering their heads, a blazing fireball shot from the sky and hit right into the trebuchets. Pieces of wood and metal burst everywhere, raining down on the men. A loud scream pierced Nym’s ears as a massive boulder fell onto one of the Inquisition soldiers, squashing him where he lay. A few soldiers were caught in the heart of the blast, screaming in pain and panic as they burned, rolling on the ground to try and put out the fire. A piece of metal, still sizzling from the heat, shot and stabbed into the snow, right beside Nym’s head. He gulped, realizing how close to death he was.

“Oh, that’s just messed up!” Bull shouted as he watched the dragon circle around, ready to attack again.

“Everyone, back to the gates,” Lavellan called out to anyone who was still alive to listen.

As they ran back to Haven’s gates, they soon realized that any advantage they got by creating that avalanche was now taken back from them. The dragon spat fire and destruction, and was quickly razing Haven to the ground.

“Was that an Archdemon!? That looked like an Archdemon,” Varric called out.

“I don’t know what that was, but it’s going to burn Haven to the ground if we don’t do something,” the elf answered, yelling over the sounds of battle and destruction.

They reached the gates and regrouped with Cullen and the rest of their companions. As the Commander closed the heavy gates with the help of his soldiers, he instantly started barking new orders, “We need everyone back to the Chantry! It’s the only building that might hold against…that beast.” He looked back at Lavellan with a dark glint in his eyes, “At this point, just make them work for it.”

Hearing Cullen’s words, any hope that Nym had been holding onto sank at that moment. His slender shoulders slouched and he felt completely powerless. Cullen was right; what could they do against an Archdemon?

“We will go on ahead and try to keep the Templars off our civilians. Harass their forces as much as we can to give others time to escape. Nym, you try and help the people in Haven. There might be a lot who are still trapped in all that ruble,” Cassandra called out as hers and Blackwall’s teams prepared to leave.

“I want to help the people. I will stay and fight with you,” Cole turned to Nymrodel, adamant to join his group. The elf still felt a bit uncertain about the young man, but he had no real reason to refuse.

“We shall convene back in the Chantry,” Vivienne added.

“Good luck, everyone,” Blackwall nodded to his comrades grimly.

~….~

Nym and his group ran down the trails, engulfed in smoke, blazing heat, bloodthirsty templars and screams of people in need. It all swirled around them in pure chaos, sending shivers down his spine. As if the Forgotten Ones have escaped from their dark prison and came down to rain their rage and suffering on the mortals.

They met blacksmith Harritt on their way, who was trying to save what was left of the forge. Everything he worked so hard for was burning down and falling apart. Bull broke into the storage for him before they had to rush onwards and protect other townspeople. They could only hope Harritt would find a safe route to the Chantry, as they cleared a path forward for any stragglers.

“To be honest, I’m a bit glad the Chargers are still in Therinfal Redoubt and aren’t here for this,” Bull darkly admitted, a glum look in his eye.

“Right now, I wish _I_ wasn’t here for this,” the dwarf muttered dryly.

“You think we’re all going to die here? How optimistic,” Dorian commented in sarcasm, with a sour expression on his face.

“Hey! Nothing’s decided yet,” their elven leader exclaimed, but he didn’t sound convincing even to himself.

“I hear someone. There. They need help.” All of a sudden, Cole spoke while pointing north. He rushed forward before the others could stop him.

“Wait,” the elf called after him. The last thing they needed was to split their group now.

He exchanged weary glances with the rest of them, before they all ran after the blonde. It didn’t take long before they stumbled onto a group of Templars, if they could even be called that - some of them looked downright monstrous. Fighting for their lives in the middle were Threnn, Haven’s quartermaster, and the former templar, Lysette.

“Help!” Threnn shouted as she saw them approach.

 Nym ran to help when a large Templar knight stepped in his path. He wore bulky armor, interwoven with red lyrium into his skin. It grew out of him like a plague. Two red eyes glowed inside the thick helmet, his soulless stare piercing into the rogue. The man-beast roared, letting out an inhuman sound, and as if possessed, all the red templars around him did the same, then started to fight even harder and faster; as if the Red Templar Knight was spurring them on.  

As the warrior templar slowly approached him with heavy footsteps, Lavellan gulped. His fists tightened around the hilts of his weapons. He knew he could only rely on his superior speed now. He couldn’t see any weapons on the Templar, but his massive fists were covered in red lyrium, and Nym guessed a good strike with those armored fists could easily break some bones.

Without a second of hesitation, he ran towards the monstrous warrior. In return, the templar charged at him. Just before they met in a clash, Nym leaped down and slid across the frozen ground, dodging the incoming attack. As he slid next to the man, he slashed at his left leg with his daggers, aiming for the spaces between his hard armor. He twirled around as he stopped behind the templar and slashed at the back of the man’s left knee with both daggers. He heard the man roar in pain, but the elf didn’t stop his onslaught. He hastily stood up, before the warrior could turn around, and stabbed both of his daggers into the warrior’s spine. Another angry roar followed and the rogue was certain the fight has ended.

Except it didn’t. The templar turned around, slamming his armored elbow into the elf. Despite his surprise, Nym reacted on time, and blocked with his daggers. Yet the power of the blow still sent him flying a few feet away. His eyes widened in shock, _*How can he still move? How can he even be alive after that last stab I gave him?*_ While his mind raced, his body moved on its own –years of training helped him develop a certain instinct in battle. As he landed on the ground, he immediately finished with a side roll and stood up, his weapons in front of him at the ready.

 Right when the Templar Knight started his way towards him, three bolts pierced through his chestplate. The man stumbled back a bit, but if he was feeling any pain, he didn’t show it. Nym glanced at Varric right behind him.

“I’ll provide some backup. Go,” the dwarf shouted.

 He didn’t need to be told twice. He leaped forward, undeterred by the skillfully shot bolts flying passed him and into his opponent. Yet as well-aimed as they were, the Templar was just as undeterred by them. They both proceeded forward, until they clashed – Nym’s dual daggers against two massive fists.

The elf’s daggers parried an attack, before he ducked low to dodge a left hook, then stabbed one dagger into the already-damaged chestplate, while he slashed with the other towards the templar’s throat. But the slash only scarped the armor and ripped through a layer of hard leather underneath. It didn’t slice into the flesh, the templar’s neck too protected. His other dagger stayed lodged in the chestplate and Nym realized he had no time to pull it out as the large warrior put his hands together and swung down.

The two fists fell down like a hammer onto him and all he could do was duck his head and lean forward into the templar, to avoid getting his head bashed in. Instead, the armored fists hit his upper back and the force was enough to topple him down to the ground. With a pained gasp he fell onto his stomach, dragging himself on the ground and away from the warrior. He could hear a low growl from behind and tightened his grip on the remaining dagger he still held in his hand. He waited until he felt a large hand grab the coat on his back, then swiftly turned around and stabbed with all his might into the man’s back knee.

With the previous damage he took to that knee, the warrior stumbled forward and this time completely lost his balance. He started falling forward right onto the elf, who took the opportunity to grab at the dagger still lodged in the chestplate and pulled it out with all his strength. Nym grunted as the large armored body fell on top of him. The templar leaned back, determined to bash Nym’s head in with his heavy fists, but before he had the chance, Lavellan stabbed forward with a loud cry. The dagger went into the man’s throat, right below the helmet. The blood gushed from the warrior’s neck, staining Nym’s pale face. The two stared at each other, so close that he could feel the other’s hot breath on him. He looked at those red eyes and there was hardly anything human left in them. Red veins branched on the man’s skin, his sickly pale face mostly hidden behind the helmet. With one last choking gurgle, the Templar Knight slumped down on top of Nym, laying all of his armored weight onto his lithe body.

“Snow!” Varric exclaimed, running towards the pair.

Struggling under the burden, Nym tried his best to push the armored soldier off him and regain his breath. His dwarven friend helped him and together they managed to cast the red templar aside. Nym saw numerous bolts piercing the man’s back where Varric shot him after circling around, yet the man made no indication he felt them. Nym wasn’t sure if the templar could feel any pain at all. 

“Are these really…people? Are they even Templars,” the dwarf asked in a mutter.

“There’s red lyrium growing out of this man, like it’s fused with him. Maybe the lyrium corrupted the Templars…drove them insane,” Nym guessed, thinking that might be why they attacked Haven.

“But they are being led by someone. This isn’t a coincidence, Nym,” Dorian’s voice interrupted them. He looked up to see the rest of the Templar group also defeated, both Threnn and Lysette safe.

“Thank you for your help, Herald. I didn’t expect this from you,” Threnn was as bold as ever as she stared at the elf.

He scowled, _*What is that supposed to mean?*_ He didn’t have time to ask, so he turned to Lysette instead, “Go to the Chantry, everyone is gathering there.”

The ex-templar nodded, “Understood. I will make sure our Quartermaster is kept safe. Thank you, Herald.”

“We should get a move on too, Boss,” Bull noted, and offered Nym a hand to stand back up.

“We should hurry. There are other people that need our help. I can hear them,” Cole urged them to move.

The Tevinter mage eyed him skeptically. “I don’t hear anything.”

“He did lead us to Threnn and Lysette,” Nym pointed out with a shrug.

~…..~

They ran onward through the town, killing any red templar faction that got in their way, while trying to protect whatever civilians they could find. Unfortunately, most of the townspeople who haven’t already evacuated to the Chantry where already dead – either by the Templars’ swords or the Archdemon’s fire.

By the time they reached the servant quarters, the large wooden building was already on fire and slowly falling apart. It looked abandoned, until Nym picked up on a weak cry for help.

“Please! Someone! Anyone!”

His face paled when he recognized the young woman’s voice. “Athelle,” he screamed, about to rush inside, only for an arrow to come out of nowhere and lodge itself into his side. “Ah!” With a yelp, he stumbled and peered at his side. The arrow hit into his armor, ripping it, but the leather stopped most of the arrowhead from entering. It was only a flesh wound, he noted. With a growl, he pulled the arrow out and tossed it to the ground angrily.

The immediate danger was still present, however. He saw a group of Templars charge at them and they were upon them before Nym could get into the burning building. He blocked a sword from a Red Templar warrior, then stepped aside and slashed at the man’s throat with both daggers. He rushed towards the next enemy and threw a knife into a Red Templar Guard’s thigh while the other tried to bash him with his shield in a charge. The Guard stumbled forward, lowering his shield enough to take the next throwing knife into his eye through the helmet’s opening.

_*I have to hurry! The Templars won’t let me pass. I need to defeat them quickly and save Athelle!*_ He could still hear the elven woman’s cries in the burning building, giving him some hope that she was still alive. But a group of vicious Templars was standing between him and the girl, and they refused to fall down easily. His impatience made him reckless, and he sustained a few more cuts in the fight, too much in a hurry to take his time and wear them down as he normally would. Instead, he needed to be the one to charge forward and kill them quick. It was careless, but he had no time left if he wanted to save her.

Finally, the last red templar standing in his way fell and Nym all but sprinted towards the building. Smoke and scorching heat struck him as soon as he drew close to the front door. He stopped in shock when he saw the orange-haired girl inside. There was a beam pinning her leg and preventing her from escaping. Everything around her was on fire and the wooden building creaked dangerously, threatening to cave in at any second.

Their eyes met and hers were filled with fear and tears, but a sliver of hope was born in them as soon as she saw him. “Your Worship, please! I-I can’t move, I’m stuck!” She desperately tried to lift the beam, but it was no use.

Without thinking, Nymrodel moved his legs to run inside the burning building, but a large hand pulled him back by the waist.

“Wait! Stop!” Bull’s gruff voice shouted with authority as he held the elf back.

Nym stared up at him with an expression of mixed emotions; panic, confusion, impatience, anger…everything was swirling inside of his mind, which kept screaming for him to act. Do _something_ to save Athelle. The reasonable part that would have told him it was painfully obvious the building was already lost and the girl done for, had no room inside him at the moment. “What are you doing,” he screamed at Bull in bewilderment, struggling to break free from the Qunari’s grip. “There is someone still inside!” He could hear Athelle crying in pain in the building.

Just as he was about to break free, what was left of the roof gave way and it all collapsed in itself. Athelle’s one final scream echoed from the inside as fire overtook everything. If he had jumped to help her, he would have met the same fate. They would never have been able to lift the beam and save themselves in time.

“Noooo,” Nym screamed, tears stinging his eyes and blurring his vision. His throat felt sore, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the scream or the smoke he breathed in.

“It’s too late,” the giant warrior sullenly stated, a grim look in his one eye. He still held Nym while the other struggled out of pure instinct, then sagged against him in defeat.

“Athelle,” the elf whispered in abandon, suddenly feeling weak and powerless. He couldn’t do a damned thing for her. All he did was watch her die.  

“Snow…,” Varric put a hand on his lower back, trying to comfort him. His voice was soft, unsure what to say to the elf.

Nym collected himself slowly, opening his squeezed-shut eyes while clenching his fists. He could only hope that Athelle died quickly and didn’t have to endure the pain of being burned alive. At least he couldn’t hear her screams anymore. “We should move on,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “There might be others we can still save,” he said in a low tone, though he didn’t sound convinced. 

~….~

Luckily, with Cole’s help and his mysterious ‘hearing of the ones in danger,’ they did save a few more people. They found Mineave and Adaan trapped, but managed to free them before the fire or the templars caught up with them. They also found Seggrit and saved him from a bloodthirsty group of red templars that were chasing him.  

Their last stop was the tavern, now in flames and ruin, just like the rest of Haven. Every now and then they could hear the ear-piercing shriek of the dragon, or the powerful sound of its wings as it circled around town and sowed destruction. In a few occasions they had to leap to the ground and find cover to avoid being hit by the fire it spat.

Dorian shouted when he noticed a woman inside. “The Barkeeper,” the mage exclaimed.

“Flissa,” Nym called out.

She was trapped by some ruble inside the burning tavern, crying for help. His blood froze in his veins as he was reminded of his failure to save Athelle. * _Not this time,*_ he promised himself and rushed inside. At least the interior wasn’t as badly damaged as the servant’s quarters. They still had some time before it all crumbled.

“Your Worship, quickly,” the woman called out, trying to scramble out of the rubble but with no avail. “My ankle! I twisted it when I fell!”

He coughed, hiding his stinging eyes from the smoke while heat surrounded him from all sides. It felt excruciating, and sweat instantly covered all of him. He grabbed a part of a collapsed wooden wall and lifted it with all his strength, his muscles and back straining from the weight. With a loud cry he lifted the rubble and freed the woman.

“Quickly, run! Go now!” Just as he shouted, he saw one of those Red Templar Warriors enter the tavern from the front entrance, while Flissa limped towards the back doors. He was still holding up the rubble as the templar swung at him with his sword.

“Raaargh,” a loud cry shook the walls as Bull’s axe met the sword and blocked it. He stopped the blade and pushed the crazed warrior away, stepping in front of Nym.

With another swing, the Qunari slashed the templar across his chest, cutting through his armor like butter. “Don’t just suddenly go off on your own,” he growled, but sounded more preoccupied than mad.

More red templars rushed through the entrance, crowding the burning tavern. Once, this place was a safe refuge for Haven’s townspeople, bringing good food and merriment to all who entered. Now, it was a blazing death trap for all inside.

That thought struck Nym, while he watched Bull push another templar away. _*Death trap…,*_ a plan started forming in his mind. He heard a creaking sound and looked up to see another support beam about to crumble. If it were to break, the whole roof would collapse with it.

Seeing the templar group run into the burning building to attack them from the front, Nym got an idea. He retreated to the back doors of the tavern. “Bull, pull back towards me!”

 The Qunari raised an eyebrow in question, but did as he was told. He killed one more templar before stepping over the ruble to accompany Nym.

“When I give you the signal, slam into this doorframe as hard as you can and then jump outside,” the elf ordered.

Bull nodded and saw him move outside the back doors first. The templars pursued, ignoring the burning wood around them, but they had to move carefully as to not get caught in the fires.

When they were half-way across the room, Nym shouted, “Now!” Bull slammed against the doorframe with his shoulder, making the whole building tremble, before jumping out the doors and joining Nym in the snow. The beam above the templars cracked and split from the force, and the whole roof came crashing down onto the warriors. Their screams echoed as they were trapped under the burning building, slowly cooking in their metal armors.

The Iron Bull grinned at how easily the whole group of warriors perished in one blow. “Nice one, Boss.” 

Nym sighed in relief. “In all honesty, I wasn’t even sure that would work,” he admitted.

“Well it’s good that it did, but let’s not repeat that ever again. You almost gave me a heart attack,” Dorian said while helping the elf up.   

“But we saved her,” Cole argued. “It’s good that we saved her.”

“I agree, kid,” Varric nodded with a smile. He looked back at Nym, still worried about the young elf. He knew Nym needed this small victory too after losing the servant girl.

Flissa wrapped her arms around Nym in a tight hug. “Thank you, Herald! Thank you so much!” She cried on his shoulder, before he gently moved her and helped her walk towards the Chantry.

He could feel warm blood trickling down his side, some of his wounds protesting with every move, but the adrenaline barely left room for any pain. He knew he would feel it all-the-more later, but he had no time to worry about that.

As they reached the Chantry gates, they saw a peculiar sight. None other than Chancellor Roderick was standing in front of a red templar, his arms stretched out as if he could stop the warrior’s sword with will alone. Behind him was a woman and her child, both cowering in fear.

“Fenedhis,” Nymrodel cursed at the sight. He was still holding Flissa and knew he won’t make it in time.

He heard the Chancellor ordering the templar to stop, and the other, of course, defied that order. The sword pierced the grand cleric through the stomach and the older man made a pained scream as he doubled over.

Nym blinked when he saw quick movement behind the templar warrior and saw Cole easily slash at the man, before finishing him off with a stab through the neck. He looked back where Cole was standing next to him only moments ago, and gaped, “When did he…?”

 The young man helped Roderick up, giving him his shoulder as support. The mother and child also raised to their feet, hurrying towards the Chantry gates now that the path was safe.

“We should hurry too,” Nym muttered, urging Flissa on as much as he could with her twisted ankle.

~….~

“Nym!” Cullen ran up to them as soon as they were inside the Chantry. “Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

The elf scowled darkly, “I know.”

“That…thing outside…it looks like an Archdemon.” Leliana walked over to them.

“I’ve seen an Archedemon before. I was in the fade, but it looked like that,” Cole agreed.

“I don’t care what it looks like,” the Commander bit back in frustration. “It’s cut a path for that army. They’ll kill everyone in Haven!”

Cole shook his head, “The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants _him_.” He pointed directly at Nymrodel.

The elf stepped back in shock. “Me? Why me?”

“I don’t know. He’s too loud. It hurts to hear him.”

Nym made a puzzled expression, frowning at Cole’s words that made no sense to him. _*Hear him? What is this guy on about?*_

 Before he could ask, the blonde continued, “He wants to kill you. No one else matter, but he’ll crush them, kill them anyway. I don’t like him.”

The others gaped, and Cullen almost spat out the words in shock, “You don’t like-?!” He stopped himself, shaking his head and muttering, “It doesn’t matter.” Turning back to Lavellan, he started, “Nym…Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable.”

“Then we flee! Evacuate and live to fight another day against this army,” Josephine interrupted, trying to hide the fear behind her brown eyes.

“Where to? There is no safe path out of Haven without either that dragon or the templars cornering us,” Cullen shouted.

“There might be one,” Chancellor Roderick called out, then coughed out some blood. His state was getting worse and everyone knew he wouldn’t last long.

Nym stepped closer to the man to hear him out. The two of them never got along and Roderick never hid his doubts and aversion towards him, but for once they were on the same side – the situation demanded it. “What do you know,” the elf asked.

“There is a path….I discovered it when I was on my summer pilgrimage.” Another coughing fit hit him before he continued. “It was a whim I walked it and yet…now, at this moment, it feels like it was destiny. She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me so I could…tell you. People of Haven _can_ escape.” It almost sounded like the raving of an injured man struck with fever.  

“You know of a way out of Haven?”

“With so many at the Conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers. I…I don’t know, Herald. If this simple memory could save us, this could be more than mere accident. _You_ could be more,” the cleric admitted. 

Lavellan wasn’t sure what to say to that. Seeing Roderick treat him as more than a prisoner or a hindrance was strange enough, but what he was saying…that he suddenly believed Nym was the Herald of Andraste? Even the elf wasn’t sure he believed it.

“But even with an escape route secured, it won’t matter if their army is upon us. They are keeping close watch on the Chantry, they won’t just let us retreat. We will be discovered and vulnerable out in the open,” Leliana warned, breaking through the slightly awkward atmosphere that was beginning to accumulate between Nym and the Chancellor.

Cullen sighed. He wore a troubled expression as an idea hit him. Nym could tell from his look he won’t like it. “The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide.”

“That would burry Haven,” Josephine gasped.

Nym read the ex-templar’s expression, “Then someone needs to stay and work the trebuchets. Give the rest of the people a chance to escape while this Elder One and his army are preoccupied with the landslide.”

“But whoever stays possibly won’t get a chance to escape the avalanche in time. They would be buried along with Haven and the Templars,” Leliana spoke dryly, her tone cautious about what she was suggesting. There had to be a sacrifice.

“I’ll do it.” Nym’s voice carried through the hall until everyone’s eyes were upon him. There was a resolute expression on his face and an air of confidence around him. If there was any hesitation in his mind, he didn’t show it.

In truth, it wasn’t that he had no fear of death, but more than that, his heart was burning with a more powerful emotion – rage. The people he saw die in Haven tonight, their last moments were still fresh in his mind. Athelle’s tear-stained face was still fresh in his mind. A part of him wanted to make sure the others don’t suffer the same fate. To protect them at least, since he couldn’t save everyone. Another part of him urged him to take revenge on the behalf of the fallen. And what would be more perfect than to collapse a whole damned mountain on these corrupted bastards and their Elder One.

“But-,” Josephine started to argue, but was silenced by his hand in the air.

“The three of you need to lead these people to safety and protect them….then rebuild. Cassandra too. You were the ones who truly started this Inquisition and raised it to what it is today. So the Inquisition can’t lose you,” he explained. He gave them a small smile as he saw their worried expressions, “It has to be me.” He wondered if everything that happened so far – his survival at the Conclave, his escape from the Fade, the mark on his hand, closing the Breach – if it didn’t all lead to this moment. His final test. He mentally chuckled at the dark irony that he survived all that, only to die now. Then he dismissed that thought; he wasn’t dead yet.

Cullen put a heavy hand on his shoulder, a soulful look in his tired eyes. “Perhaps you will surprise the dragon, find a way…”

He gave him a brave smile in return, and nodded. “Perhaps.” Indeed, it was too early to lose hope, however small it might be.

They had limited time in which they could prepare for what needed to be done. Cullen prepared his troops the best he could, the Inquisition soldiers helping the civilians get ready for evacuation. Together with her scouts, Leliana was trying to chart a path where to escape once they are out of Haven. Josephine was overseeing the supplies’ inventory and everything else they needed to make a long and perilous journey across the mountains.

Some of the townspeople cowered in fear, or cried silently, while others joined hands in prayer together with Mother Giselle. Even Roderick was praying for Lavellan’s success.

And Nym? He was neither praying nor panicking, but was instead calmly adjusting his armor and sharpening his blades for the fight to come.

Varric walked up to him with a somber expression. “So you’re really going through with this.” It wasn’t really a question. The elf nodded, and he continued, “I know you’re still angry about Haven…about what happened to your friend, but-.”

“It’s not just that,” the elf cut him off. “You know it’s not. There’s no one else to do this, it has to be me.” He sighed when he saw the dwarf frown. “You know, I never liked them calling me the Herald of Andraste.”

Varric chuckled despite himself, “I noticed.”

Nym smiled tiredly, “But whether I like it or not, that is what I am to them. What they see when they look at me – more than just a Dalish elf, or an agent of the Inquisition, or a hunter. So how can the Herald of Andraste hide behind someone else and make his escape? How can I let someone else sacrifice themselves for me and then proclaim I stand as the protector of the Inquisition, of the people?” He could see from Varric’s expression that he understood even if he was reluctant to admit it. “It _has_ to be me,” he repeated again in a slow tone, emphasizing every word. 

“But you will not be alone,” Cassandra’s voice joined them.

Nym and the dwarf glanced up at her in question. It wasn’t just her; Solas and the Iron Bull was there too.

“We will clear you a path to the trebuchets and give you as much time as we can. We only have one attempt at this so it must not fail,” the Seeker sternly pointed out.

“It won’t, Cass, don’t worry,” Nym promised.

As he sheathed his daggers, ready to head out, the elf chuckled dryly as one thought occurred to him. “You gave your lives for me, to give me a chance in that Dark Future Dorian and I were cast into. This kind of feels like I’m finally repaying you,” he muttered, barely audible.

“Huh?” Cassandra hummed in question, not hearing what he said.

He shook his head and raised to his feet, “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” He looked at his group; Solas, Varric, Bull and Cassandra – all ready to fight alongside him. His eyes burned in crystal blue, a determined and dangerous grin spreading slowly across his features. “Let’s end this.”

~……~

_“Let that thing hear you,”_ Cullen had said. And Nym had no intention of disappointing. He and his group carved their way to the one remaining trebuchet that still worked, killing anything that stood in their path. When they finally aimed the trebuchet at the mountain, all that was left was to wait for Cullen’s signal that they were safely out of harm’s way so Nym could fire. The plan was simple, but life-threateningly risky none the less.

That proved to be especially true when he saw a large creature drag its legs towards them, teetering through the snow. It was a Templar once, a human, but now it was a monster completely overrun by red lyrium. It towered over them with its whole 5 meters of height. The large Behemoth was a cluster of red lyrium, sharp and hard like stone, with one arm a clawed hand, and the other formed like a giant maul. Getting hit by that clump of red lyrium on its arm was probably the same as getting hammered with a battering ram.

“Oh, shit,” was the only thing Nym could say as his eyes widened at the sight. That might have easily been the biggest opponent he ever had to face.

 Yet in an instant, Bull and Cassandra were in front of him, ready to be the vanguard to take on the Behemoth Templar. How could he possibly falter, when they showed such courage and heart? He took a deep breath and readied his weapons.

The Templar creature screamed. An ungodly, horrible noise that sounded inhuman and made the hairs stand on the back of his neck. As it made such a roar, it charged forward, suddenly picking up in speed. None of them expected it. The group dodged, all jumping to the side as the Red Templar slammed its hammer-hand down towards them. It crushed the ground, creating a crescent wall of red lyrium around it.

Nym swallowed, then clenched his jaw and rushed forward. He felt a thin film of energy envelop him as Solas used his barrier spell on him. Bull and Cassandra were already on the monster. The Qunari slammed his large frame against the Templar’s leg, then proceeded to hack at it with his axe, chipping away the red lyrium.

Cassandra blocked the creature’s attacks with her shield and sword as it slashed at them with its clawed hand. Parrying the monster’s attack, she sliced at its hand with her sword, making the Templar roar angrily. In response, it swung with its boulder-hand, aiming for her side. The Seeker prepared her shield to block it, but the hit still swept her off her feet and to the side, right into Bull’s shoulder. Both warriors fell to the ground. The large arm came down once more, and they both rolled on opposite sides to avoid the impact. The red lyrium hammer missed them, making a hole in the ground where they lay only moments before.

As the cloud of snow settled down form the impact, they saw a small figure crouching on the giant hand of the Templar. Nym jumped onto the hand once it slammed down. He lunged up the arm, too quick for the Templar’s other hand to catch him. The Behemoth was giant and strong, but sluggish. The rogue’s aim was the only human aspect remaining on the creature – its head. The Behemoth tried to shake him off, but he jumped to close the remaining distance and slashed at the head. Its helmet was fused with the skin, armored by crystals of red lyrium on it, but he managed to cut through, slashing at the creature’s eyes. Now blinded, the monster roared in anger. It swayed its body wildly, making the elf lose his balance. The Templar flung him off, but Nym only spun in the air and landed gracefully back on the snow. Blood was still pouring from the creature’s eyes as it trashed around. It was a comforting notion; that whatever it was, it still bled like any other living thing when hurt.   

The two warriors quickly stood up, realizing there was a red lyrium wall behind them, blocking any escape. The red templar was still trashing around in panic, angrily stomping and swinging with its arms. Varric’s bolts chipped at its armor, but they could not penetrate it quickly enough.

“No choice but to go forward,” the Seeker realized.

“Works for me,” the Qunari answered, clutching at his weapon’s grip right before he charged at the Templar.

It raised one giant leg, trying to stomp them, aiming for the sounds they were making. As the leg fell down, Bull used the broad side of his axe like a shield and stopped the leg mid-air. The pressure on him buried his heels into the ground, and the Qunari’s knees buckled for a second, but his strength held out.

“Rrrraaargh!” With an angry roar, he raised his arms, pushing the massive foot back. He felt the stabbing pain in his ankle, his old injury acting up, but he ignored it due to more pressing matters. The Behemoth stumbled, tipping backwards.

What finally tipped the scales was a well-aimed magical boulder by Solas, that slammed into its chest. It lost its balance completely and fell onto its back with a loud crash. The ground around it rumbled and shook, crystals of red lyrium scattering everywhere.

Nym was the closest to its head, running forward and jumping with his daggers raised, aiming to cut the monster’s head clean from its body. His dual weapons slashed through with some effort, but they finally killed the thing.

He exhaled, brushing sweat and hair from his face. “Creators…I can’t believe this was human once.”

“It’s sad when you think about it,” the elven mage commented with sympathy in his eyes.

“Whoever is behind it will pay for this,” Cassandra growled.

Nymrodel assumed they finally had a moment of peace, able to fire the trebuchet. Alas, it was never that easy. He saw the great beast circle the sky and made its way towards his group, as it was attracted by all the noise of battle. His expression hardened. “Everyone, pull back. Leave the rest to me,” he ordered.

“But-,” Cassandra started, but he had no time for arguments.

“Now!” He turned to her with a stern gaze until she conceded.

“Understood. Let’s go,” she murmured to the others.

Nym watched them retreat, heading towards the hidden path out of Haven. His attention was reverted back to the dragon when it let out an angry roar and opened its great jaws. He could see the fire stewing in its maw. Clicking his tongue in irate, he jumped sideways in time to avoid a fire blast that hit the ground and melted the snow all around him. Luckily, it didn’t hit the trebuchet.

With a groan he rolled to his stomach and pulled himself up. He was barely on his feet when another blast of power hit. It wasn’t fire this time, but something akin to electricity. The blast flung him aside and sent him flying. He landed onto his back and slid across the snow, gasping in pain as all air rushed out of his lungs upon impact. His world spun as he tried to get up in spite of the battering pain. Still in a daze, he noticed a tall shape slowly moving through the fire as if completely unaffected by it. He squinted his eyes to focus his blurry vision on the approaching form.

He was prepared for a lot of things as he saw his enemy approach. A Templar, a Venatori mage, a darkspawn…and a whole number of things in between. Yet no imagination could prepare him for what he saw. It looked like a man, but it barely resembled a person. It was neither human nor darkspawn.

Nym gaped and reflexively pulled away, dragging himself across the ground and away from the strange apparition. He stood up on shaky legs, still drawing backwards, until his retreat was cut off. The ground shook as the dragon looking like an Archdemon landed behind him, roaring dangerously at him as if warning him to stay put. It showed rows of razor sharp teeth as it shrieked at him, and he could see right into the mouth of the beast. The sight made him shiver and he couldn’t help but step backwards, away from the monster. No, two monsters now.

He glanced timidly at the misshapen person as the creature called out in a man’s voice, “Enough!” Two human-looking eyes glared down at him as the large man spoke in an archaic dialect, “Pretender! You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.”

“What are you,” Nymrodel asked in astonishment, staring at the disfigured person that might have been human once. “What do you want?”

“Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are, what I was. Know me. Know what you have pretended to be.”

The elf frowned in confusion. He couldn’t understand what this man meant. “What I pretended to be?”

“The Prophet. The Holy One who walks among mortals,” the creature stated. “But you will never, have never, been it. There can be only one God and it shall be me. Exalt the Elder One! The _Will_ that is Corypheus!” One long finger that looked more like a claw pointed directly at the elf. “You will kneel.”

Nym felt anger return inside of him, slowly replacing the initial fear. After seeing what this ‘man’ had done to Haven, one thing he knew for certain – he would never bow down to this monster. “Let me ask you again…,” he started through gritted teeth, glowering at the creature. “ _What_ do you want,” he asked slowly, each word laced with venom.

The one who called himself Corypheus only glared at the elf harder. “Nothing that is in your power to give.” He proceeded to raise his other hand and only now did Nym notice there was something in it – it looked like some sort of artifact. An orb. “But that will not stop me,” Corypheus continued, and the orb suddenly activated with an insidious red color. “I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now.” With one simple gesture, Corypheus activated the mark on Nym’s hand.

He elf gasped, his wide eyes staring at the mark that started to brightly shine on his palm. “What have you done?!” He demanded an answer, panic slowly seeping into his mind as he felt a sudden pain in his left hand. It felt the same as when the mark was still going wild, before his first attempt at closing the Breach.

Corypheus ignored him as he spoke on. “It is your fault, Herald. You interrupted the ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose.” His hand pointed at Nymrodel glowed the same bright red as the orb, and with another gesture Nym’s mark crackled and its light intensified.

“Aah!” The elf screamed as he felt his palm burn. He held his wrist with the other hand, his left one shaking from the strange energy coursing through it. “Stop!”

The man didn’t listen. “I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as ‘touched,’ what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens. And you used the Anchor to undo my work. The gall!” With another gesture of his hand, another painful wave of energy coursed through Lavellan.

Feeling weak in the knees, the hurt overtook him. “Gaaah!” He fell to his knees and doubled over, his sweaty forehead touching the cool ground. His whole body shook as the mark on his hand continued to pulsate in pain. “I….don’t understand…,” he spoke through labored breaths, unable to make sense of what this man was talking about. He created this mark? And what did he mean by assaulting the heavens? “What is it for then? What do you want with it?!”

Once again, Corypheus only answered in riddles, his cryptic speech creating even more questions. “It is meant to bring certainty where there is none! For you, the certainty that I would always come for it.” He strode towards Nymrodel and the other was too weak to fight back or run away. The Archdemon circled behind as if stalking its prey, only waiting for its master’s order to devour the elf.

Corypheus closed the distance between them in a few long steps, then grabbed his wrist and pulled him up like a rag doll. They were face-to-face with each other, yet Nym’s feet dangled a good foot above ground. He gasped at the gnarled, scarred man in front of him, and the pulling on his arm only added to his previous pain. But even through the pain, the elf managed to snarl at the man, defiance clear in his glare.

“I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the Empire _in person._ I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more.” Corypheus pulled him closer as he stared at the elf. “I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods and _it was empty_!”

Nym gritted his teeth and endured the pain as he spoke with venom, “That all sounds like ranting of a psychopath to me. I don’t care what you are, you’ll pay for what you did to Haven. Dhava ‘ma masa!”

Corypheus’ eyes narrowed dangerously before he flung Nym away, tossing him aside like he was garbage. The elf slammed into the trebuchet and huffed as he lost his breath from the strong impact.

“The Anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling.” He drew closer to Nym again, this time with his dragon right at his side. “So be it. I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation – and God – it requires.”

While Corypheus continued his rant, Nym noticed something glimmering in the snow and grabbed at the steel weapon – a sword. He pulled himself up, holding the long hilt with both hands, the point aimed at the monster in front of him. Then another kind of light caught his eye – the signaling arrow shot from somewhere in the mountains. Cullen and the rest must have made it out. He sighed in relief, _*So they are safe.*_ He glared back at Corypheus and it was obvious the man intended to finish him off. _*It’s now or never.*_

“I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die,” Corypheus finished.

The elf glanced over at the lever on the trebuchet, already wound up and ready. He just needed to push it and the weapon would fire. He sneered back at Corypheus and his Archdemon, “Fuck you _and_ your dragon. We will never bend the knee to you, monster!” With that, he kicked at the lever as hard as he could and smirked when the trebuchet fired. Alas, he had no time to gloat since he knew what was about to happen.

The rumbling sound grew louder after the boulder hit the mountain. The avalanche that started, swept everything in its way with its destructive power. Nothing could stop it anymore. As Corypheus and his dragon watched their approaching doom, he used the chance of distraction to slip away unnoticed and start running as fast as he could. But how does one outrun an avalanche? He didn’t even know where to go, but he knew he needed to get away. He heard an angry shriek behind him but dared not to stop and look. Jumping off the wall, he fell down through a broken bridge and tumbled into the darkness while the snow covered everything above him. As he hit something hard on his way down, everything became black.

~…..~

It was freezing. That was all Nym could think about as he struggled his way through the snow. The blizzard was raging outside, making it hard for him to orientate. He didn’t even know how far from Haven he trekked or where to go next. The chilling wind pinched at his cheeks, and the snow now reached to his thighs. He managed to find an old campsite, but the hearth was cold. Meanwhile, the ever-falling snow made tracking impossible as it covered any footsteps left by the Inquisition people.

Through the mist, the elf noticed woods nearby. Although the trees were thinly spread out, he hoped they would provide at least a little bit of cover from the harsh wind. Making his way towards it, his teeth chattered and he hugged himself tightly to try and keep warm. He was so cold, so tired. He leaned against a tree, barely holding himself upright. If only he could close his eyes for just a moment… His eyelids started to flutter shut, his eyes feeling heavy, but before he could sink into a sleep from which he would never awaken, his eyes opened wide suddenly, _*No! I mustn’t fall asleep! I must carry on!*_

He pushed himself off the tree and continued onward slowly. He tried to look for any signs that would indicate the Inquisition moved through here and he smiled weakly when he noticed broken branches on one of the pine trees. It was in his eyelevel, too high for any animal to break while passing by, so it must’ve been a person. Never before did he feel so grateful for all his excruciatingly long hunting and tracking lessons the senior hunters in his Clan subjected him to. _*I’m on the right track, at least.*_

A howl came from somewhere, but with all the wind clouding his senses, it was impossible to determine its direction. Another joined as if responding and soon Nym could hear numerous wolves howling around him. He shivered, this time not only from the cold _. *If I get attacked by wolves now, I’m dead.*_ He was unarmed, exhausted and chilled to the bone. He prayed to Andruil that the wolves do not catch his scent; that they find some other prey in the area and keep away from him. _*I don’t want to die here like this, after surviving that monstrous man, an Archdemon and an avalanche,*_ he shouted in his mind, determined to live. Sustained by nothing but his sheer will, he pressed on. He hoped Ghilan'nain would bestow mercy upon him and help him find the way forward.

Finally, he stumbled upon another abandoned campfire, but this one still had cinders in it. It was warm to the touch. “This is recent,” he exclaimed out loud, a spark of hope igniting inside him. He climbed up a hill and saw the path bend behind a wall of rocks.

Were those torchlights in the distance?

Unconsciously, he quickened his step, seeing the salvation in front of his eyes. So close he imagined he could feel the torch fires’ warmth. Just a bit further. Just a few steps more. He kept encouraging himself until he finally reached the top of the hill and the bend. He heard a sound and recognized the signal the Inquisition scouts used to inform others when something was approaching. Or _someone_ , in this case. That sound was like a message to him; to assure him he didn’t have to fight anymore. That he could finally relax. As if that was all his body needed, it suddenly lost all its strength and Nym fell forward into the snow. Interestingly, the last words that echoed in his mind were Varric’s; _“I bet if we tossed you in the snow, you’d blend right in. We wouldn’t even be able to find you!”_ He weakly chuckled at the memory, while his vision slowly started to blur. _*Damn….I hope Varric isn’t right about that. Otherwise I’m doomed…,*_ he thought right before he lost consciousness.  

~…..~

Nymrodel was lying on his cot, staring up at the tent’s top. He’d been a sleep for hours, but he felt no more rested than before. The night was a hectic one, to say the least. After Mother Giselle’s encouraging song, the advisors stopped arguing, and there was now dead silence in the camp. But despite everyone joining in her song, the mood was still dreary. Many of Haven’s citizens died during the night, either on the hike or later in camp. One of them being Chancellor Roderick. Every now and then, pained wailing would break the silence, coming from the medical tent where the injured were resting. He knew a lot of them won’t make it during their hard journey through the mountains tomorrow.

That glum thought reminded him of his most recent conversation with Solas; there was at least one good piece of news in all of this – the fact that there was a sanctuary for all of them, not far from here. After their conversation and the detailed report Nym gave them about Corypheus and everything he witnessed; him, Solas and the advisors charted a course on the map of the Frostbacks, with the mage pointing them to where a legendary fortress should be. Nym still couldn’t believe that there was a castle so deep in the Frostback Mountains, but he saw no reason why Solas would lie about it. They would reach the place tomorrow, if Corypheus and his Archdemon didn’t find them first…

Yet that was only the tip of the iceberg that were his worries. The elven mage also mentioned he knew where Corypheus’ strange orb Nymrodel described came from – apparently it was an elven artifact. The last thing they needed now was the people somehow blaming the elves for all this, and Nym knew there would be people who’d do that. He shuddered at the grim thought that it might lead to humans purging the elven alienages. Hahren Zatvel’s face flashed in his mind and he bit his lip in anxiousness. At the time, he told Solas that such a fact won’t matter if they don’t find a way out of these snowy mountains, but he knew he was just avoiding the topic. He simply didn’t know how to go about it yet. He knew he needed to tell the advisors sooner or later, and after a while, the information would spread through the rest of the Inquisition. He just couldn’t shake off the worry about how the people will react once it does.

There was so much plaguing his mind that he couldn’t sleep a wink, despite his exhausted and pained body. The monster calling himself Corypheus – blighted and commanding an Archdemon. Not to mention all those things he said about no gods, no Maker, and that he was in the Golden City to see the truth with his own eyes. Mother Giselle tried to make sense of Corypheus’ words without questioning the Maker’s existence, but being a Dalish elf, Nym wasn’t as shocked about it as the rest of them. His faith wasn’t shaken since he didn’t care much about the Maker in the first place, despite the title the humans bestowed upon him.

But even without that particular worry, he had a hundred others that prevented his rest. Things suddenly got a lot more complicated, even more than the Breach. _*I should’ve known it wouldn’t be so easy. Even if I had decided to go back to the Clan, that isn’t a possibility any longer,*_ he sighed in frustration. Not to mention there were still opened fade rifts across Thedas that were portals for demons and that only he could close.

So engrossed in his thoughts, he didn’t notice a person approaching. Heavy footsteps with the faintest miss in the rhythm to them, like it was someone large with a slight limp. Nym was already so used to the sound of those footsteps that he could recognize who they belonged to with his eyes closed, but tonight he didn’t even hear them coming closer. His mentor would certainly whack him over the head for such a lapse.  

“Boss,” Bull’s scruffy voice called out in a greeting, making Nym jump in surprise. The elf was so startled he almost fell off his cot. The Qunari chuckled at the sight, “I just came to see if you’re ok…you know, after all the crap that happened in Haven.”

Lavellan stiffened. That was one thought he tried to push deep in the back of his mind – all the people they had lost in Haven. All the people _he_ wasn’t able to help. The guilt was still raw, clawing at his chest. He tried not to think about Athelle’s crying face just before she…

“The Inquisition promised those people a sanctuary. Haven was supposed to be a safe place for them and yet…,” he gritted his teeth, his eyes gleaming with hurt.

The Qunari sat on a cot across Nym’s, making the thing squeak painfully under his weight. He sighed. “That’s not your fault. You saved as many people as you could – I know, I was there to see it. Hell, you let a damn _mountain_ fall on you to give a chance to the rest of us. You did everything you could,” the man reassured him.

Even so, the elf didn’t look convinced. He fumbled with his hands, playing with his blanket while he listened. A part of him knew Bull was right, but another part just wouldn’t accept it. Did he really do everything he could? He didn’t know, and that question was what bothered at him the most. What if he could have done more, but simply didn’t think of it? Or if he wasn’t good enough, or strong enough, which was why he failed to protect Haven?

His mind wandered and he remembered his Clan, along with his late brother. Both his mother and Seiriadel were long dead. Many of Clan Lavellan died when his father made a contract with a demon. Nymrodel always felt responsible for those things. And now, he felt responsible for even more lives lost. “I wear the vallaslin of the Protector, yet I can’t protect anyone when it matters,” he muttered darkly. “I thought I grew up…that I was stronger now. But I was wrong.” A somber shadow appeared on Nymrodel’s gentle features as he whispered.

Bull frowned, unsure what the elf was talking about, “What do you mean?”

But Nym just shook his head, then slowly rolled to his side, turning his back to him. He just couldn’t talk about this with anyone right now, it was too painful. He couldn’t face them while feeling he let them all down. “Never mind, it’s nothing. I just need some rest,” he answered, hoping the man would take the hint and leave him alone. It only magnified his guilt, brushing Bull off like that, but he couldn’t deal with it all at the moment.

The warrior sighed, but nodded. “Alright. Get some sleep and regain your strength. We’re all counting on you to scout a path ahead tomorrow.” He put a gentle hand on Nym’s shoulder and squeezed once, before standing up with a groan, feeling the strain in his weaker ankle. Before he left the tent, he turned to Nym once more, “And Boss?” He got no response, but he still continued, “You _are_ strong.”  

 Nym kept his eyes open, the blue in them glimmering, reflecting the pain he felt. He didn’t answer Bull or look at him even as he left, but something about Bull’s confident statement comforted him, if only a little.  At least _he_ had confidence in Nym, even if the elf couldn’t find any in himself at the moment.

* * *

 

Glossary:

_Fenedhis_ – Fuck

_Dhava ‘ma masa_ – Kiss my ass!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Athelle! :( I kinda feel bad for killing her off, I really liked her, and as a character she could develop further...but sometimes the story just goes where it goes. ^^'  
> I'm also really impatient to reveal all of Nym's past and explain it further, but it's still way too early for that.


	13. The Inquisitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoy the new chapter.

“Whoa...,” Nymrodel gaped at the sight laid before him.

A large fortress sitting atop of a mountain, protected by a mountain formation on one side and surrounded by a massive wall. A courtyard stretched out in front of the reaching fortress, filled with numerous buildings yet still leaving enough room for trees and other vegetation.

Red autumn leaves rustled beneath his feet as the elf stepped inside through the large gates, marveling at the sight before him. 

“Skyhold. It was a home to many before us, once even used by the ancient elves, but it has been long since abandoned and forgotten…until now,” Solas announced as he joined him.

“It looks amazing. This has enough room for the whole Inquisition and then some,” Nym exclaimed, smiling widely. For the first time since Haven’s attack, he felt a small spark of joy inside. He turned towards the elven mage, “If it weren’t for you, we would be lost. We never would’ve found this place. Ma serannas, lethalin.” He had to fight the urge to hug him from excitement.

The mage chuckled, “I hope it serves your purpose well.”

“Ready to see what it looks like inside?” Leliana smirked at them as she approached.

Josephine was right by her side, smiling brightly, “Oh, I cannot wait.”

Nym was just as excited. “Judging by the exterior, I bet the inside of the castle is even more amazing,” he grinned.

~…..~

“……”

Standing in a rundown throne room, the group wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

The walls were crumbling, the furniture was in pieces and cluttering the hall – most of the wood rotten from damp and termites, by now. The grand chandelier that once lightened up the whole room was lying in the middle of the hall, on top of rubble. The Skyhold’s interior was in ruins, despite its presentable appearance on the outside.

“So it needs some work,” Nym commented after a pause. He tried to stay positive; after all, it was going well so far. “A little spit and polish, and it’ll be as good as new,” he reassured his comrades, although he felt like he was trying to reassure himself as well.

“Right. We can have our soldiers fix up the place. Everyone can lend a hand,” Cullen added in agreement.

“I’m sure you can make it…presentable. Luckily, we still have a lot of resources from the noble houses that support us. We can use those for renovations,” the lady ambassador noted.

“So this is where it begins,” Nym muttered, gazing around the vast throne room.

“But where _do_ we begin? Even after repairing Skyhold, what we need now is a plan against this Corypheus,” Leliana reminded them.

“Yet we know nothing about him,” their Commander sighed.

“We know he wanted my mark for entering the Black City and becoming a God. And to restore the Tevinter Imperium. Maybe he really was a Tevinter Magister once,” Nym guessed with a shrug.

“Tevinter is not the Imperium of a thousand years ago. What Corypheus yearns to restore no longer exists,” Josephine pointed out.

“Tell _him_ that,” the elf muttered.

“I am more worried about him trying to enter the fade…even without the mark, he might find another way and unleash catastrophe on us all,” the ex-templar grimaced.

“Not to mention; Corypheus commanding an Archdemon. This might mean the beginning of another Blight,” Leliana commented.

“There were no reports of other Darkspawn besides Corypheus. Not any attacking Haven, at any rate,” Josephine added.

“At least Skyhold has the bones to withstand an attack from that thing, unlike Haven. We would see any army coming from miles away,” the Commander reassured them.

Their spymaster smirked shrewdly. “And we have one advantage – we know what Corypheus intends to do next.” She turned to Nymrodel, “In that strange future you experienced, Empress Celene had been assassinated.”

“Imagine the chaos it would create…”

“And with an army he’ll bolster with a massive force of demons, he could conquer the entire South of Thedas.”

Leliana sighed and shook her head. “I’d feel better if we knew what we were dealing with.”

A clearing of one’s throat brought everyone’s attention to the roguish dwarf standing at the entrance. “I might know someone who can help with that.”

Lavellan raised an eyebrow questioningly and Varric continued, “Seeing Corypheus jogged my memory so I sent a message to…an old friend. He’s crossed paths with Corypheus before and may know more about what he’s doing.”

“That is…very _convenient_ ,” Leliana gave him a knowing smile and Varric nervously averted his gaze from her.

“Great. If there’s someone who can help make sense of that monster, I’m all ears…and I didn’t mean that in a sense that my ears are big,” Nym cleared his throat awkwardly.

He frowned when he saw his friend shift, glancing around worriedly.

“Uhh…parading around might cause a fuss. It’s better for you to meet privately, once he arrives. On the battlements, perhaps?”

The elf noticed Leliana and Josephine exchanged guessing glances. Something was definitely up, he just couldn’t tell what. Varric was being awfully shifty…well, shiftier than usual, even as a roguish dwarf with ties to the Merchants’ Guild. 

“Alright,” he agreed, still carefully eyeing the dwarf.

“Trust me, it’s complicated-,” Varric started, but was interrupted by another set of steps.

This time it was Cassandra who entered, and Nym noticed Varric immediately stiffened. Well, the Seeker did always make him nervous, the elf mused. “We are ready,” she said to the group.

“Excellent,” Josephine smiled.

Curiously glancing around, Nym saw Leliana smirk and the rest of the group looked just as pleased. It was as if everyone knew what was happening, but him. “Ready for what?”

“Come. This concerns you the most, after all.” The redhead smiled at him and gestured for him to follow the advisors.

He followed them outside the castle, stepping down the first flight of stairs and almost bumping into Cassandra when she suddenly stopped at the staircase. He saw Josephine, Varric and Cullen proceeded to climb down the stairs, and join the crowd below. Wait. A crowd? Still confused about what was occurring, he turned back to Cassandra and Leliana.

“What’s going on,” he whispered to them, his voice strained by anxiety. Usually, an elf surrounded by a mob didn’t mean anything good.

“Mother Giselle was right when she said an army needs more than an enemy,” Cassandra started.

Nym remembered mother Giselle’s words when they talked in the camp, not long ago. _“An army needs more than an enemy. It needs a cause. You united them under one cause when you aimed to close the Breach. Now, you must do it again to defeat Corypheus.”_ However, at that time, he felt beaten and depressed, so he could hardly take her words seriously. He doubted he could unite or lead _anyone_ , when he couldn’t even save Haven.

He was brought back to reality when the Seeker continued, “Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. And now, you are Corypheus’ rival because of what _you_ did. And we know it. All of us,” she gazed down at the crowd staring at them from below. Nym followed her gaze, noticing the hopeful eyes searing into him.

“What the Inquisition requires now is a leader – a one who has already been leading it. You,” the Seeker finished.

Leliana brought out a sword. It looked ornamental rather than for practical purposes. It was too big and heavy for Nym to use, but he guessed it was only used for ceremonies anyway. Ceremonies such as this one. He gulped, feeling the tension in the air. Everyone had expectant expressions, awaiting his reaction. Waiting for him to say something.

Glancing back at Cassandra, he hissed in a hurry, “Are you sure about this? Giving so much power to an elf?” Cassandra never seemed like one to judge him for his race, but that didn’t mean the whole world would happily accept an elf as the leader of an Orlesian ever-growing army.

The woman smiled, “I would be terrified to give any person such power, but I also believe this is meant to be. That without you, there would be no Inquisition.”

Nym didn’t agree. After all, it was Cassandra, Cullen, Leliana and Josephine’s efforts who created the Inquisition. Still, there was no time to argue.

“What it means for the future and how you lead us…that is entirely up to you,” the Seeker added. “Just…don’t make me regret it,” she just had to add.

Leliana sighed and gave her a warning look, “Cass…”

Nym only chuckled. That sounded more like the Cassandra he came to know. His snickering soon died out when he gazed at the large sword, currently representing everything he was about to become. Swallowing hard, he slowly reached out for it, curling his fingers around the cold hilt. He could feel the weight of it – not only because of its size, but because of all the things it carried. All the burdens that he would take on once he accepted this sword.

He took the sword and looked down at the expectant crowd. Dwarfs, Qunari, Humans, Elves, Tranquil, Mages and former Templars; all standing together against a common enemy. It was as Josephine had previously stated; “ _Common ground is the start of every alliance.”_ Faith, divine providence or racial disputes…it all paled in comparison, because these people were now about to fight for something much more tangible – their lives. Their home was in danger. What mattered the most now, was to work together and bring that threat to an end. To bring down Corypheus. That is what Nym wanted to fight for – for survival and for a better future.

He remembered what the Dalish often taught – Vir Adahlen; “Way of the Forest.” With that in mind, he started his speech. “Together we are stronger than the one! Today, our race, religion, or ranking in society does not matter. Because we are all fighting for the same cause – to save our homes, our lives, our loved ones! We fight for what is right – to defeat an enemy that threatens us all! For that reason, I will lead you in our battle against Corypheus! The Inquisition will fight for all of us!”

Loud cheers spread through the crowd like waves, giving off energy and feeding off of it at the same time. The people hailed loudly, they’re eyes filled with hope and with smiles on their faces. Momentarily, their loss at Haven was completely forgotten. Even Nym didn’t expect such a strong reaction to his speech.

“Wherever you lead us,” Cassandra smiled at Nym. She stepped forward and addressed the crowd, “Commander, will our people follow!?”

Leliana smirked and whispered to Nym, “I’d say that question has already been answered.”

“Inquisition, will you follow!?” Cullen shouted the question at his troops. An even louder acclamation resonated through the crowd. “Will you fight!?” The people continued to cheer, riled up by the atmosphere and their Commander. “Will we triumph!?” The crowd practically went wild. Even Josephine, the ever-so-appropriate lady, got caught up in the moment and let out a loud cry of triumph.

Cassandra and Nym exchanged looks. Even he was smiling now, unable to contain the determination and confidence rising inside of him. Finally, he was getting his bearings back.

Unsheathing his longsword, Cullen pointed it high in the air, his brown eyes burning as he watched their newly appointed leader. “Your leader! Your Herald! Your Inquisitor!”

Lavellan watched the crowd cheer, then did the same as the Commander, rising his sword high in the air. He ignored the heavy weight trying to pull him down, along with the painful strain in his right arm from holding it. His adrenaline overpowered the tension in his muscles, as he felt a rush from the people’s energy.

~…..~

“Oh, let me look at you. We must do something about this dirt on your face.”

Vivienne was fretting over Lavellan ever since his new title was announced. He half-expected her to lick her thumb and clean the dirt off his face, like a mother would do to a child. It was getting embarrassing. She always cared so much when it came to keeping up appearances, something he still couldn’t quite understand. He guessed it was an Orlesian thing, since she spent most of her life there.

She looked more pleased by him becoming Inquisitor than he was. Ever since they exalted him as the Inquisitor, all he could worry about was how he would have to deal with all those rulers, nobles and diplomates, and they would all see him as young and inexperienced, which he was. Sure, he was one of Clan Lavellan’s best hunters, but leading a whole army was something completely different.

“You should’ve seen me two days ago, after I was almost eaten by an Archdemon,” he joked. He used the rim of his sleeve to wipe the muck of his cheek, much to Vivienne’s disapproval.

She frowned. “Now that you are an official symbol of the Inquisition, we need to make sure you look presentable, darling.” She, of course, had a thousand suggestions on how to make that happen. “To start with, a good Orlesian silk suit with white gold stripes would do.”

_*I don’t think so,*_ was his first thought. He just couldn’t see himself walking around Skyhold in a silk suit, especially while he’s helping with repairs. He would be constantly anxious about tearing it, and it would probably cost more than the combined treasury of Clan Lavellan.

Ignoring his scowl, the mage continued, “And perhaps some nice fennec-fur gloves.”

* _I refuse_ ,* Nym’s mind instantly countered.

Vivienne was completely oblivious to his disdain as she continued, “And definitely some new leather shoes!”

Nym was practically shouting in his mind by now. * _Never_!*

Yet despite the heated objections in his mind, he managed to force politer words out of his mouth, “I’ll…think about it.” It was better to placate her than continue this discussion.

“There you are,” a familiar voice interrupted them and Nym was never more glad to see his dwarven friend.

Varric came over to the pair, “I was looking all over for you. To continue our discussion from earlier, remember?”

“Oh, right,” Nym feigned that he knew exactly what the other rogue was talking about.

“Well then, I’ll leave you to it, darling. Things will only get busier around here from now on, so you better be prepared for what is coming.” Vivienne gave the elf an encouraging smile before excusing herself.

The pair watched her leave before Nym sighed in relief. “Thanks for that. You just saved me from having to stand for a ‘Fitting from the Void’ that would probably last for _hours_.”

The storyteller chuckled, “Don’t mention it.” As he continued, his expression turned more serious. “Actually, I really do have something to talk to you about. That mystery friend who can help us with information about Corypheus….it’s Hawke.”

Nym gave him a blank stare,” Cassandra is going to kill you.”

“I know!” Varric pinched the bridge of his nose. “But I also know Hawke is the only one who can help us now, so I’m willing to risk it.”

“So you knew where Hawke was all this time and you kept silent,” he asked, folding his arms on his chest.

His friend sighed. “I never wanted to lie to you or the Inquisition, Snow, it’s just…at the time, I didn’t know _why_ they wanted to know all about Hawke, so I presumed they wanted to hunt him as a criminal. He did help with the Mage Rebellion in Kirkwall and even fought against the Knight-Commander…though she was as crazy as a batch of nugs, anyway.” Varric shrugged, “I only wanted to protect my friend.”

The elf couldn’t keep his chastising expression after hearing that. Truthfully, he couldn’t blame Varric for being mistrusting of Cassandra and the Inquisition. He was too, at first. And they were both treated as prisoners in the beginning, so he could relate to how intimidating that could feel.  

“I understand, Varric. I’m just not sure Cassandra and our advisors will. But when the time comes, I’ll have your back, don’t worry. I won’t let them imprison you for lying or anything,” he smiled.

In return, he received a relieved look through a nervous smile from Varric, “Thanks, buddy.”

They were silent for a while, just enjoying the scenery around them, when the dwarf spoke up again. “So, Inquisitor, huh? That sounds serious and ominous. I guess your days of frolicking around the woods are over.”

Nymrodel almost chocked on air, “Frolicking around the-! Is that what you think the Dalish do?!” He didn’t know whether to be offended or start laughing his ass off.

“Hey, you’re not the first Dalish I’ve met. I heard it from a reliable source that you Dalish _do_ frolic at times,” Varric persisted.

The Dalish elf only grumbled, sulking a bit. “But you don’t have to make it sound so…lame.”

The other rogue smirked, patting Nym’s back where he could reach, to comfort him. “There, there. I’m sure you can pull off looking cool while you frolic, Snow.”

Nym’s eye twitched. Now he was just poking fun at him on purpose. “Shut up, dwarf.”

~……~

He just finished talking to Cullen, about to go further in the courtyard and see how he could help with the rebuilding, when he noticed Solas and Vivienne arguing not far ahead. He sighed, sure this was another problem he had to deal with. The two mages hardly saw eye-to-eye about _anything –_ other than defeating their newfound enemy Corypheus and the Venatori.

With his elven hearing, he could catch on to what they were saying even before he drew close, but he couldn’t quite understand their argument.

“This thing is not a stray puppy you can make into a pet. It has no business being here,” Madame de Fer narrowed her eyes at Solas as she spoke.

“Wouldn’t you say the same of an apostate,” the elven mage retorted.

“What’s going on here,” Nym interrupted, joining the pair.

“Master Lavellan,” Solas greeted. “Or is it Inquisitor now,” he asked with a smirk.

Nymrodel frowned. He still wasn’t used to the new title – Inquisitor Lavellan. It sounded even more intimidating than the Herald of Andraste. If people were wary of him before, they’ll be terrified of him now; and that is the last thing he wanted.

“Let’s skip the formalities and just stick to what’s familiar, shall we,” he suggested in a dreary voice.

“In that case, my dear, I have to protest bringing that…. _thing_ here,” Vivienne interjected.

Nym’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “What _thing_? And if you’re talking about that dracolisk we acquired; I assure you, he only _looks_ frightening, but he’s actually a sweetheart,” the elf protested. He has gotten some complains already – mostly by Dennet, who had to take care of the exotic creature.   

Solas shook his head with a smile, “No. We’re discussing Cole – the young man that _helped_ us at Haven and journeyed with us to Skyhold.”

Vivienne let out an annoyed breath, “Except he’s not really a ‘young man,’ is he?” She gave the apostate an accusatory look.

Nym directed him a curious gaze, “Solas?”

The mage sighed. “Cole can cause people to forget him, or fail entirely to notice him. These are the abilities of a spirit.”

“It is a _demon_ ,” the woman corrected.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Nymrodel stopped them just as they were starting to argue again; this time about the difference between spirits and demons. “Don’t demons usually look deformed? How can Cole look so…human?”

“Correct. Demons normally enter this world by possessing something. In their true form, they look monstrous, just like you said. Cole has possessed nothing and no one, yet he appears human in all respects. Cole is unique. More than that, he wishes to help. I suggest you allow him to do so,” Solas explained.

Nym tuned to where he last saw the strange young man trying to catch insects on the ground. He was…peculiar, if nothing else. “I’ll talk to him personally before I decide anything.” He searched around with his gaze, but saw no sign of him. “Umm…where did he go?”

“If none of us can remember him, he could be anywhere. Dangerous, no,” Vivienne prompted. Despite her innocent tone, Nym knew she was deliberately trying to plant a seed of paranoia inside of him, so he would be suspicious of the young man.

He huffed in vexation at her attempts, but noticed Cole near the infirmary tents before he could make any comment. “There,” he called out, and walked towards the blonde.

The young man was simply standing there, staring at the injured bedridden soldiers. Most of them were dying and weren’t going to last till the end of the day.

Noticing Lavellan even before the other approached him, he started talking. “Haven. So many soldiers died to protect the pilgrims so they could escape.”

Nym’s saddened gaze fell to the ground as he remembered Haven. It was still a sore subject for him. “They were brave,” he muttered in a somber tone.

“Choking fear, can’t think from the medicine, but the cuts wreck me with every heartbeat. Hot white pain, everything burns. I can’t. I can’t. I’m going to…I’m dying. I’m…dead,” Cole finished, looking at a soldier who went limp on his bedroll.

Nym’s eyes widened in shock as he listened. He was confused and wary by what he witnessed, but a part of him was also interested. Could this spirit/demon/man read minds? That idea was both fascinating and disconcerting. “What was that just now?”

Cole glanced at him, but didn’t answer as he approached yet another dying soldier. “Every breath slower. Like lying in a warm bath. Sliding away. Smell of my daughter’s hair as I kiss her goodnight. Gone.”

“You can read their minds,” Nym asked again, following after him as the young man changed direction once again.

“I read their pain. Hear their hurt. Sooth it. Heal it, if I can,” the young man finally explained, taking a wooden cup and pouring fresh water from a pitcher. “Cracked brown pain, dry, scraping. Thirsty.” He crouched beside a woman and gently lifted her head, nearing the cup to her lips.  

“Thank you,” the woman whispered. Her face twisted out of agony, soothed by his actions, if only a little.  

Standing up, he turned back to the Inquisitor. “It’s alright. She won’t remember me. I use my powers to help people…then make them forget. I used to think I was a ghost. I didn’t know. I made mistakes…but I made friends too. Then a templar proved I wasn’t real. I lost my friends. I lost everything…”

Nym couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for the young man. He wasn’t surprised that a templar wouldn’t care if Cole was trying to help or not. Most of them saw everything in black and white, or good and evil. Even though the world was far from such simplistic divide. Cullen was different, but even he used to be more rigorous from what Nym had heard of the man. 

“I learned how to be more like what I am. It made me different, but stronger. I can feel more. I can help,” Cole finished, then suddenly turned in another direction. “There is someone…”

Nym followed him again, this time walking to a dying soldier. The man was breathing with raspy, shallow breaths. It was obvious he was struggling, slipping in and out of consciousness.

“Hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Someone make it stop hurting, Maker please…,” Cole started reading the mind of the dying soldier. He pulled a dagger from his belt and approached him. “The healers have done all they can. It will take him hours to die. Every moment will be agony. He wants mercy.”

The elf widened his eyes when he realized what Cole was about to do. “Wait. Stop!”

Cole did stop, then glanced curiously at him, underneath his big hat and long bangs.

“You don’t _know_ if he will die. Healers might find a way to help him, or mages could!” He argued furiously.

“How do you know,” the blonde asked calmly. There was an inquisitive gaze in his piercing eyes as he watched the elf.  

Nym shook his head, “I don’t. And neither do you. That’s just part of life. But everybody deserves a chance. As long as he’s still alive, he has a chance to survive. To live through this. If you kill him now, you’ll be taking that chance away from him…and then there is no going back.”

Cole blinked, eyeing him carefully, then slowly put the knife away. “You sound like my friend, Rhys. He stopped me from killing mages because he showed me there was another way to help.”

Lavellan had trouble understanding him as he spoke so cryptically. But he could feel the sole desire to help the Inquisition in Cole’s voice. Yet, before he committed to anything, he had a few more questions for this mysterious man.

“How did you end up in Haven?”

 “I…ran there,” Cole said simply, in a tone that sounded more like a question than an answer. He sounded confused by the question where the answer should be so obvious.

Nym blinked, his expression humorless by the retort. “No, I meant…where did you come from? And why come help us in Haven? How did you know the red templars were coming for us?” He realized he had a thousand questions for this bizarre being.

“Before everything, Rhys was my friend, in the White Spire. Then we met Evangeline. I was worried she would hurt Rhys since she was a templar and he a mage….but she was kind. She helped the others. Rhys wanted to help too, to stop the hurting. Maybe that’s why he saw me at the Spire. Then together, we went to Adamant – old sorrows and pain…it should be torn down. We found out dangerous things and it scared Seeker Lambert, and he scared the mages. It started the rebellion.”

“You were there when the rebellion started?!”

Cole nodded. “Death and dying, begging and bloody. Some wanted freedom, some peace, some war. Some wanted it all to stop. Some of the mages wanted to die. Too sad. Too scared. Too much. I didn’t know what I was – a ghost, I thought. I used the knife to set them free, but when Rhys found out, he made me stop. Made me understand. There were…other ways to help. I didn’t know,” he whispered the last part, almost sounding ashamed.

That explained what Cole mentioned about the mages earlier. Nym felt a bit unsettled, imagining Cole easily killing the mages without truly knowing what that meant. “It sounds like you didn’t know what you were doing.”

The young blonde shook his head, “No. I knew. I just thought I had to.”

“I’m glad your friend showed you another way,” he smiled.

“Me too,” he responded and Nym thought he saw the faintest smile hidden underneath the large hat. “I was wrong to do that. If I start again, you, or Cassandra or Cullen need to kill me.”

Lavellan frowned at that. He saw the serious look in Cole’s eyes and knew the man meant it, but the thought of doing that made him uncomfortable. He tried to change the subject, instead. “You said you were in Adamant? What did you see there?”

“We found a demon there. It touched a man and made him real again. It scared Rhys and Evangeline, and put me back in the cupboard on the Bad Day. Rhys and Evangeline saved me.”

“And you met Seeker Lambert? Cassandra will want to know about that.”

The youth nodded. “What we found at Adamant made him angry. He needed to stop us. He killed so many. He didn’t care. Cold, corrupt. So I came and killed him. But before that, he told me what I was. Rhys couldn’t look at me. I ran until I found more Templars.”

“More Templars,” Nym asked, tilting his head to the side in interest.

He nodded. “They went to the Seeker Fortress – at Redoubt. But it was a trap. The demon there made the Templars corrupt. Made them take the red.”

“Therinfal Redoubt,” Lavellan exclaimed, stunned. _*That’s where the Chargers went to investigate.*_ He could feel worry manifest inside him and hoped Bull or Leliana got word from the Fortress by now.

“When I realized the demon’s plans I ran ahead of the red templars to warn you. Warn Haven,” the young man explained.

Nym felt his heart contracting tightly in his chest. _*If only Cole arrived a day –no, even a few hours sooner. If we had more time to evacuate Haven…,*_ he stopped himself mid-thought. It was useless thinking about what-ifs now. It was already done and he was only torturing himself this way.

“You couldn’t save them,” Cole blurted out as if reading his mind – oh wait.

He blinked at the odd young man, “What?”

“You couldn’t save them all, it was impossible. There’s no reason to feel guilty. You did all you could,” the blonde explained.

Nymrodel’s expression twisted into a troubled one as he gazed back at Cole. “I know that...I mean, my brain understands it, but…it doesn’t’ help. I still feel the guilt. Perhaps in time…,” frowning, he trailed off.

Cole’s expression softened. “I’m sorry. I can’t make you forget because you need it…you need to remember to move forward and fight Corypheus.”

The elf sighed, “I know. That’s ok, I _don’t_ _want_ to forget. I need to remember what happened at Haven to do better next time…to remind myself what I’m fighting for.” Then another thought occurred to him, “So you can read my mind too, huh?”

The young man pursed his lips, making a troubled expression while he mulled over the question. “You’re…too bright. Like counting birds against the sun. The Anchor makes you more, but past it…Pulled, blood that is not blood, a tiny trace of time. Lips struggling to shape language your parents lived. And past that, the weight of all on you. All the hopes you carry, fear you fight. You are _theirs_. It must be very hard. I hope I help.”

Nymrodel shifted his weight uncomfortably. Just listening to Cole give shape to his anxieties, feelings and most intimate parts of him…it was unsettling, to say the least. “I thought you said you couldn’t read me because I’m ‘too bright,’” he muttered, rather discontented.

“I can’t when it’s a deep hurt, buried in time and memories. The Mark is bright and it covers everything else. But you were thinking about it now, hurting because of it. You brought that hurt to the surface so I could see it,” the blonde shrugged.

“So you can see it if I hurt at that moment,” Nym concluded. He was trying to piece together what Cole said. Apparently, if he was thinking about something hurtful, remembering a bad memory that caused pain, Cole could sense that despite his Mark. But he could only read what was on the surface because of it. _*I’ll have to be more careful in the future. I don’t want to worry anybody,*_ he thought. He’d rather not have his innermost thoughts laid out bare for Cole, or the whole Inquisition, to see.

 His contemplation was interrupted when he saw Cole staring at him. He stiffened, fearing he was ‘reading’ him again. Turns out, the young man just had something to say. “I want to stay. I want to help.”

_*Oh right! We got so involved in talking, I completely forgot about recruiting him.*_ He felt like he knew enough about the man to make a decision now. He nodded to the other, “Alright. I welcome you to the Inquisition, Cole.” He gave a small smile. _*Just don’t read my mind out loud, please,*_ he wanted to add, but kept it to himself. Who knows, maybe Cole heard him anyway.

The blonde nodded seriously. His voice was always so mellow and his expressions so calm, Nym had a hard time deciphering his thoughts or feelings. Thankfully, Cole was quite honest and straightforward. “I’m glad,” he started. “I can make a difference here. I can help.”

~……~

Nym wasn’t much when it came to brute strength, but that didn’t stop him from helping with the heavy lifting in Skyhold repairs. He worked diligently, carrying wooden boards and other junk out of Skyhold’s hall and into the courtyard. There, the craftsmen could reuse, what could be saved, for repairs.

Working under the bright sun for hours was strenuous, even in the mountains. Cold mountain air helped cool his skin, but he soon learned his skin-tight shirt only stuck to him, making him feel even hotter and uncomfortable. Deciding it was a nuisance, he took it off and resumed his work without it. Sweat glistened on his torso when the lithe elf stopped for a second to catch his breath, wiping his wet forehead. Content with his progress, he let out a long breath, staring up at the clear sky.

He was blissfully unware of the bashful glances and attracted stares in his direction, and not only by women. He was also oblivious of a large Qunari who eyed him up and down with interest, checking him out while he approached.

The Iron Bull smirked when he noticed some people observing the Inquisitor, their eyes glinting with more than just admiration. There was also a feeling he knew well – lust. He was amused when he realized the elf was completely oblivious to the stares, even as he ran his fingers through his white hair, almost like he was posing and tempting them. The Qunari also noticed the difference in the passersby’s gaze, nothing escaping his sharp senses. The women who noticed him, mostly glanced at Lavellan with sheepish looks, hiding their blushing cheeks behind a shy demeanor. A few men stared as well. However, they had a more intense, hungry gaze when they noticed the elf’s well-defined, yet slender body.

Unlike the rest of them, however, Bull had one advantage over them – he knew the Inquisitor personally. “Boss,” he called out to get the elf’s attention as he walked over to him. He had no qualms talking with the revered Inquisitor in a friendly and informal manner, and he noticed a few jealous glares from the sidelines because of it.  

The dark stares aimed at Bull intensified when Nym turned towards him and gave him a bright smile. “Bull! I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” That expression always made him look even younger, but man, that smile could melt _anyone’s_ heart.

“Oh?” Bull curled his upper lip in amused curiosity.

Nym’s expression turned more serious. “Have you gotten any word from the Chargers?”

The Qunari nodded, “Leliana sent them a letter by raven about everything that happened in Haven, and gave them our new location. Right now they are still investigating Redoubt, so they’ll come here when their mission ends. It seems there was demon activity in Therinfal Redoubt and they are currently trying to track the demon down.”

“Demon activity…,” Nym muttered with a light frown. _*That’s what I feared after listening to Cole.*_

Bull saw his bothered expression and his gaze softened. He liked how Lavellan really cared for the Chargers and worried over them almost as much as Bull did. “Don’t worry, Boss. The Chargers are used to hunting demons, they’ll be fine. They correspond regularity with me and Red, and they keep us posted so we know the situation is under control.”

The elf nodded, feeling a bit more reassured. “Alright. But come to me if something changes. If there are any news, I want to be informed.”

“Understood, Boss,” he smiled wider.

“So what did you want to talk to me about,” Nym asked, gazing up at the large man.

“Right. Do you have some free time now?”

He glanced at the mountain of clutter he already pulled out of Skyhold. “I suppose I have time for a break. Give me a second.” He walked over to a bucket of clean water that he occasionally used to freshen up while working. He lifted the bucket and poured the water over himself, hoping it would wash away the sweat along with the musky scent on him.

Obviously, he didn’t know he was making quite a show for the people around. Droplets of water dripped from his short wet hair, then slid down his bare torso and back. Bull had to conceal another amused smirk when he noticed the stares on him deepen, even though Lavellan himself stayed ignorant of them. The Iron Bull didn’t mind the sight of the wet, lean elf, although his sweaty, fragrant demeanor from earlier wasn’t bad either. His sweat smelled like a forest right after rain, and reminded the Qunari of the Par Vollen rainforests just after a shower – he didn’t hate that smell. It was better than human sweat that stank like pork that’s been sitting in the sun.

A fleeting thought crossed Bull’s mind that Dorian would have loved to see this too. He decided to tell the mage about it later, just to mess with him and see him groan in disappointment at a missed opportunity. He’s going to glare at him in jealousy for days since the other had a front row seat to Lavellan’s oblivious spectacle; Bull just knew it.

When Nym turned around, Bull tossed him back his shirt that was draped over a branch nearby. The elf caught it effortlessly and put it on, denying the people around him any more satisfaction from his half-naked body.

_*Sorry ladies and gentlemen, the show’s over,*_ Bull chuckled in his mind. “Come on, follow me,” he gestured with his head for Nym to walk with him.

~…..~

The Inquisitor stepped back out in front of the Iron Bull, this time in full armor the Inquisition scouts wore. It was the same kind he wore that first day when he went to spy on the Conclave so it brought back bad memories he’d rather forget.

That’s why he couldn’t help but put on a sour expression as he asked, “So why am I dressed like this?”

The other man only smirked mystically, “You’ll see. It’ll be worth your time, I promise.” He led the way to some of the soldier tents where they put up temporary headquarters until Skyhold was operational. They could see Cullen giving orders in the distance. Finally, they stopped in front of a makeshift table where a pair or recruits were sharing a drink together.

“Good day. Iron Bull. My merc band just joined up,” Bull greeted the two and sat across them without waiting for them to invite him.

Nym raised one eyebrow curiously at the obvious lie Bull just told. He’s been with the Inquisition for about two months now. Still, he didn’t comment on it and instead followed the Qunari’s lead, sitting beside him.

He examined the two recruits. One was a young fellow, in his early twenties. The other was an older woman, and he guessed she was an experienced soldier due to her hardened expression and the scars on her cheek. She had the eyes of someone who’s already seen her fair share of war, unlike her young comrade who seemed green and naïve.

The young soldier was the first to speak. “Tanner. I’m from Jader – well, near Jader.”  

“Mira. I was Guard-Captain for Lady Pendell. Signed on after shit blew up at the Conclave,” the woman joined in. Her gaze turned to Lavellan, “Who’s your friend?”

Nym had to hide his surprise. After he was made an official leader of the Inquisition, he thought there won’t be a soul in the organization who won’t know his face. Yet these recruits didn’t recognize him, despite his distinct Dalish features. He found that comforting.

“This is Grim,” Bull answered instead of him, giving Lavellan a tiny smirk. “He doesn’t talk much.”

He decided to play along. Nodding to the two soldiers, he grunted in response, just like he saw Grim from the Chargers do before.

“So. You ready to kill some demons, or Venatori…or whatever that Corypheus asshole is?”

 “This isn’t just about killing! We are helping the Inquisitor help save the world and build the next Empire.” Mira surprised Nym with her answer.

He didn’t know the Inquisition soldiers had such high hopes for him. He felt honored, but also troubled. As if he needed any more expectations put on his shoulders. He already felt like he had no idea what he was doing half the time. Frowning, he hummed in thought.

“Well, as long as I get paid, I’m happy,” Bull grinned. “That’s why I sighed up.”

Once again Nym had to conceal his perplexed expression as he glanced at the man. He knew that wasn’t true either.

The blue-eyed young soldier grimaced, shaking his head. “ _I_ just couldn’t spend my whole life on a farm. Needed to live a little, you know?”

The Iron Bull turned to the woman again, “What about you, Mira?”

She sighed. “I saw what happened at Haven. The Inquisitor staring down that monster and his Archdemon…I don’t sing the Chant of Light as much as I should, but you can’t see something like that and don’t believe.”

Nym bit his lower lip. Once again they were talking about him like some holy prophet sent by the Maker. He was none of those things they believed about him. He wanted to argue – tell them what _really_ happened. He got exceptionally lucky and survived an avalanche by falling through a hole, that was all. But he stayed silent, although Bull noticed the troubled gaze in his ice-colored eyes.

Deciding this was enough for what he wanted to show him, Bull slowly stood up. “Well, Grim and I should find our tents. Thanks for the drinks.”

Lavellan noted they didn’t actually _drink_ anything, but he stayed silent and followed his comrade’s lead.

When they walked away and were well out of earshot, Bull faced him again. “I know every soldier under my command. You don’t have that option...But a few faces might help,” he explained.

“You made it sound like you didn’t like the Inquisition,” the elf tilted his head.

The Ben-Hassrath agent shrugged. “People don’t always tell you the truth when you’re polite. You’ve gotta poke them a bit.”

That’s when Nym understood what Bull’s aim was with all this. It was good to get to know some of his men – see them as people and not just some distant units to be used in a war. “It was good to get their perspective.”

“Yeah. Sounds like we could use an easy win for boys like Tanner. And vets like Mira have seen enough to be wary. You’ve got a good army coming along. Remember that, no matter what comes next,” Bull said. “Although, you looked a bit troubled there,” he added.

_*As always, Bull is too perceptive…or maybe I’m just really bad at hiding my facial expressions,*_ Nym sighed. “I just feel like there’s so much riding on the Inquisition…on _me_. You once told me Qunari pick their leaders from the ones willing to make the hard decisions and live with the consequences. I’m still not sure if I can do that…I’m not even sure if I’m right for this job.” He felt like this Inquisitor title just landed in his lap. Or maybe Mother Giselle had something to do with his appointment.

On his surprise, the Qunari simply smirked. “Considering you dealt with every shit flung your way, I’d say you’re doing just fine. Besides…don’t forget you have _me_ watching your back.” He grinned, his one eye glistening.

The Inquisitor snickered softly, “You’re right. We managed to somehow overcome every obstacle that came our way so far…and there has been _a lot_ of shit.” He grinned.

All of a sudden, he felt very glad having the large Qunari watch his back. Bull was always open and easy to talk to, despite being a Ben-Hassrath spy. Unlike with a lot of others, he never felt judged even when confining in him. He was never afraid that what he says might be misconstrued or had to worry that Bull will frown upon his beliefs, even when they differed from the man’s. Recruiting the Mages was proof of that – Bull was far from pleased, but he never said a bad word about it to Lavellan. He respected Nymrodel’s decision, when even his own advisors, like Cullen, accused him of not thinking clearly.  

Bull laughed, “Right?! So don’t wrack your brain too much.”

“Thanks, Bull,” the elf smiled.

“Anytime, Boss,” he smirked, tapping his fist on Nym’s shoulder. “And hey, when the Chargers come back, maybe you can meet some of _my_ guys. Properly this time, and not just during a mission. We’ll get some drinks…when they set up a tavern. Man, they _better_ set up a tavern.”

Nymrodel laughed, then gave him that cute bright smile, “I’d like that.”

* * *

Glossary:

_Ma serannas_ – thank you

_Lethallin_ – blood kin, very close and dear friend

_Fitting from the Void_ is what I used instead of 'Fitting from Hell' since there is no concept of Hell in Dragon Age universe. 

A/N: And the inner circle is finally complete with Cole. <3 This one wasn’t much for action, but I hope it wasn’t boring. I just wanted a little intro for Cole and also Nym being named the Inquisitor. (I know most of the conversations are cannon, but I try to make them interesting, none the less.) The next chapter will be a sidestory with the Chargers and their Therinfal Redoubt mission with the Envy demon. (So I’ll finally be able to make some original content. I can’t wait! :) Thank you all for reading, and until next time! 

I have a sudden urge to draw Nym while he frolics now. XD

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the inner circle is finally complete with Cole. <3 This one wasn’t much for action, but I hope it wasn’t boring. I just wanted a little intro for Cole and also Nym being named the Inquisitor. (I know most of the conversations are cannon, but I try to make them interesting, none the less.) The next chapter will be a sidestory with the Chargers and their Therinfal Redoubt mission with the Envy demon. (So I’ll finally be able to make some original content. I can’t wait! :) Thank you all for reading, and until next time! 
> 
> PS: I have a sudden urge to draw Nym while he frolics (As it is in Varric's imagination) XD


	14. The Demon Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bull's Chargers investigate Therinfal Redoubt and realize things are even worse than they suspected. An Envy Demon is on the loose and it has one goal - to become none other than the Inquisitor. The Chargers need to hunt it down before it infiltrates the Inquisition. But how to find something that can shapeshift into anyone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is T rated for blood, violence and language

Krem’s heavy foot dropped into the mud as he continued his walk down the path. The sky was dreary and grey, light rain falling down on them. But the Bull’s Chargers soon realized it wasn’t only the day that was particularly bleak. As soon as they came to the Ferelden lands near Therinfal Redoubt, the mood turned sour.

They passed a village on their way, which was at the foot of the hill where the great Fortress stood. The villagers glanced at them with suspicious and fearful gazes, but they kept their distance from the mercenaries. Yet twitches in their strained expressions told Krem they were hiding something. That was confirmed when he and the company healer tried talking to the villagers, to gather information on the former Seeker Fortress, only to be shut out immediately. The village folk would shake their heads and tell them they didn’t know anything in terse answers, or simply run away from them while pulling their children inside their homes. It seemed nobody was willing to talk about Redoubt or what happened there a few days ago.

Krem hated leading the Chargers blindly into possible danger. They barely had any information about what happened when they reached the stone bridge that led to the fortress’ gates. The first thing that drew their suspicion was that the gates were wide open, almost as if inviting them inside. There were no guards near the gates or archers on the battlements, leaving the place completely defenseless.

The Chargers glanced at each other in wonder.

“Maybe it’s our lucky day,” Dalish asked with a sheepish look and shrugged.

“When has that ever been the case,” Krem retorted with a sigh.

 “There’s a first time for everything,” the elven mage muttered.

“Or we can just go in and find out for ourselves, instead of standing here in the rain and guessing,” Skinner suggested in an impatient tone, already walking across the bridge.

“Hey, stay on your guard!” Aclassi quickly jogged beside her, his heavy armor clattering. “I don’t want to explain to the Chief why I let one of you get killed.”

Therinfal Redoubt was huge, with three levels, the battlements and a wide courtyard. Cremisius decided not to take all the Chargers with him, so it felt like it would take days to comb through the entire Fortress.

As soon as they entered the courtyard, the sinister feeling in his gut intensified. Before coming here, the Chargers expected the place to be swarming with people, even if Leliana’s sources told them the Templars already deserted the castle. Nevertheless, they expected at least some people, like servants, that would be left behind. They worried how they will enter undetected to scout the place, yet all that planning proved useless in the end, since there was not a soul around to stop them from exploring.

“Something isn’t right here…Why would they all just up and leave all of a sudden?” Stiches murmured in thought as he looked around. Next to him, Grim grunted in agreement.

“This place is too quiet and too shifty for my taste.” Rocky furrowed his thick eyebrows, creating a deep crease on his wrinkled forehead.

They passed the courtyard carefully until they found the entrance to the lower level. “Let’s check inside. Just…everyone be careful,” their Lieutenant warned.

Skinner exhaled, “You worry too much; you’re starting to sound like the Big Guy.”

“Yeah, just add a bad sense of humor with some cheesy flirting lines, and you’ve got the next Iron Bull,” Dalish grinned teasingly.

The heavily armored warrior rolled his eyes at the two elves. “Great. As if one wasn’t enough already,” he complained, but a shadow of a smile split on his face.

He pushed the doors open and stepped inside the main hall of the castle. As soon as he did, his chestnut eyes widened in shock. He heard a few gasps behind him and that confirmed what he was seeing was real – it wasn’t a nightmare, although it sure looked like one.

Bodies of Templars and servants littered the ground, old crusty blood staining the carpet. But not only on the floor. Even the walls were splattered with the crimson liquid, and there were a number of strange markings and writings on the walls, written in human blood. A few bodies disturbingly dangled from the ceiling beams and spiked on the giant chandelier, although that was so far up, there shouldn’t have been any possible way for them to get there.

The stench of rotting flesh stung Krem’s eyes and twisted his expression into disgust. What’s more, the bodies were mutilated, while some looked skinned alive. “Was this done by magic?”

Dalish’s response sounded muffled as she held her sleeve over her mouth and nose, trying to protect herself from the foul odor. “I don’t sense any residual magic, though.”

Unlike the mage, Skinner had no problem coming near the bodies and examining them up close. She was currently crouching over a dead Templar, removing his helmet to get a better look. “Some bodies look like they were killed by a sword.” As the helmet came off, she scowled. “Lieutenant, come look at this!”

Krem rushed over towards her, staring at the dead body. The rest of the Chargers joined them. The dead Templar was sickly pale, which wasn’t unusual, but the red veins traveling underneath the skin of his throat and face certainly was. “Stiches, what do you make of this?”

As the Company’s healer and surgeon, Stiches had the most skill to examine the corpse. He hummed in thought, looking over the skin. He took the Templar’s hand and examined the fingertips. “Look, on the inside of his nails…it’s red lyrium.” Then he opened the dead men’s eyes. The whites of his eyes were completely gone, replaced by glowing red that wasn’t blood. “Even inside his eyes…It’s definitely red lyrium corruption.”

“That crap Varric hates? He did warn the Inquisition about its dangerous,” Rocky mused.

“So maybe the Templars killed their own who were corrupted,” Dalish guessed.

Krem looked over at the other bodies, then shook his head. “I’m not sure. Look, not all of them were corrupted.”

Skinner shrugged, “So they fought with each other.”

The Lieutenant clicked his tongue. “We need more information. We need to explore deeper into the Fortress. Let’s go.”

The Chargers followed their Lieutenant through the deserted halls of the Fortress. They searched through the lower levels, until reaching the main level. There, they found dead bodies of templars abandoned in their quarters. Some of them had their necks sliced, most likely assassinated in their sleep.

In the quarters were a few notes and journals that helped them piece the puzzle of what happened in this nightmarish place. In one of the journals, a Templar talked about the strange change her comrades were experiencing, starting with their officers. The officers would wear red lyrium phials around their necks, gradually making all their subordinates drink the stuff. In the Officer Quarters they found a Lyrium Manifest, where it said normal lyrium shipments were replaced by red lyrium ones. Another journal talked about Lord Seeker Lucius – of how he completely took control over the Templars and was acting strange and authoritative, shutting down anyone who would oppose him.

They learned that red lyrium corruption overtook most of the Templars. Those who didn’t take red lyrium and stayed sane were assassinated. Those who got sick but proved too weak to the red lyrium corruption went insane and were eventually killed off. From the tracks left that Skinner read, it appeared a greater force came in and out of the fortress before the Chargers arrived, and the remaining templars who survived joined that army.

But it wasn’t until they reached the other side of the castle that the strangeness of the place intensified. They entered another courtyard, although smaller than the one at the entrance.

Dalish was the first to notice it. She stopped in her tracks, her eyes narrowing. “Be careful, the Veil is thin here…”

“Is that your professional archer opinion,” Skinner taunted slyly.

“That means demons,” Krem mumbled, pulling out his long sword and taking the shield off his back.

“….,” Grim grunted as he took the heavy broadsword off his back into both hands.

A growl came from around the corner and the group drew closer carefully. Skinner snuck to the corner and peered behind it, counting the number of Shades that aimlessly roamed around the area. She counted four Lesser Shades and one larger, Greater Shade demon.

She put up five fingers to the rest of the group before unsheathing her two dual daggers. Aclassi gave her a silent nod and the woman disappeared around the corner without making a sound. The Lieutenant then put up a hand in the air, letting the group know to wait for his signal.

Skinner used the shrubbery of the courtyard to hide her presence as she drew closer to the Shades. She could see her target, the closest lesser Shade that stood near a large oak tree and would let out a low growl every now and then. Her footsteps made no sound as she ran closer, rushing out of the bushes and leaning behind the oak, then peering at the Shade demon. As expected, it didn’t notice her yet. She was a skilled rogue, and her enemies only noticed her when she wanted them to. Although, most of them died clueless without even seeing her face before she stabbed her daggers or arrows into them.

The elven woman waited for the demon to turn its back to her more, then slid from behind the tree, and stabbed both weapons into its back. It let out a loud roar, but she was unfazed by it. Sliding the daggers out of its back in a slice, she cut through the demon’s hard flesh. With another roar, the creature turned into a puddle of black goo.

Its loud scream alerted the rest of the Shades and they all turned their heads towards the rogue. Their glowing beady eyes pierced her before they roared with expressionless masks that could hardly be called faces. The dreary creatures slid across the ground with quickened pace, heading towards her with clawed arms raised.

Skinner spun the daggers in her hands and sheathed them at her sides, before taking her bow from her back and pulled one arrow from its quiver. She drew back the arrow and shot it right into the eye of one of the closest Shade demons, but it only slowed it down. She didn’t wait to see the effects, however, as she turned around and started running back towards the corner from where she came. _*That’s right, you ugly bastards, follow me right into a trap.*_ She timed her escape so she would be neither too slow nor too fast, wanting to lead as many Shades as she could to their deaths.

Jumping around the corner, she saw the Chargers a safe distance away. Just as the first demon appeared around the corner behind her, she saw Dalish rise her hand towards her. A fire glyph the elven mage posted right at the turn of the corner lit up and exploded, burning two demons that were currently sliding across it.

“Now,” Krem yelled and gave a signal for the party to attack.

 He charged at the closest Shade, ignoring the fire that blazed on it. Even though it was on fire, it moved as if unaffected by it. He ducked low behind his shield to avoid getting singed and bashed it against the demon. The Shade didn’t stumble backwards, but the shield momentarily obstructed its vision. It clawed at the warrior, but Krem held his shield up to block the attack. He could hear the unnerving scraping of the monster’s claws against the shield’s metal. Stepping backwards and rising his sword, he brought it down on the Shade’s head. The weapon cut in deep, black slime pouring from the wound. He stepped backwards again, sliding the sword out and piercing the Shade’s chest with a finishing blow.

Grim passed him by, slamming his two-handed blade into a Shade that was previously frozen by Dalish. Meanwhile, Skinner covered Grim’s flank, stabbing and slashing at the incoming creatures.

A clatter of heavy armor brought their attention to their surroundings and they noticed the corpses of templars mauled by demons were rising to their feet. They moved strangely, swaying as if unsure on their already-rotting legs, while they held their swords or bows in a loose grip.

“Undead,” Stiches warned.

“Fenedhis, I said the Veil was thin here! The spirits must have come through and possessed the dead templars,” Dalish explained.

The undead templars shuffled slowly towards them, joining the demons. They moaned in low, inhuman voices as they approached, lured in by the scent of fresh, living meat.

“I’ll take care of it,” Rocky shouted, tossing two grenades towards a group of Templar corpses. The two bombs exploded, showering them with dirt, blood and rotten body parts.

“Oh come on, Rocky,” Krem screamed in disgust, covering himself with his shield to avoid contact with the falling body parts.

“Sod it, I didn’t expect it to make such a large explosion. I’ll have to fix the dosage of sand lyrium,” the dwarven sapper murmured in thought. 

A loud angry roar echoed throughout the courtyard and Aclassi cursed at his momentary distraction. He raised his shield right in time to block a slam of the Greater Shade demon. Even with his muscular stature and heavy armor, the demon managed to hit him hard enough to send him flying backwards, his teeth rattling from the impact.

Luckily, Grim and Stiches appeared before him in defensive stances, already prepared to take on the large demon. Skinner laced her blades with magebane poison that demons were weak to as equally as mages. She then snuck up behind it and pierced both daggers in its back, while the two warriors attacked from the front. Meanwhile, Dalish and Rocky were taking care of the remainder of undead templars. Their Lieutenant was up in no time to join the fight.

The magebane worked, weakening the demon as it shrunk in size some. Krem lured the Shade in, bringing its attention to himself. He raised his shield above his head just in time as it brought both clawed arms towards him, slamming them onto the shield. Taking that moment to act, Grim went high while Stiches went low with their swings. The healer cut into the demon’s stomach, while the blonde warrior went for the head. The monster roared one last time before it collapsed into itself, turning into thick black liquid.

The elven mage sighed in relief when the battle ended. “Templars, red lyrium, undead and now demons…this cursed place has become a portal to the Beyond.”

Grim grunted, getting everyone’s attention, and pointed at some blood markings on the wall.

“Grim found something. What is that?” Rocky examined it. “Hey, there are more words written in blood on the walls here. But it can be read.”

The Chargers all gathered around the cryptic words as Krem read them out loud.

_“A whisper, followed out of dream. A beckoning thread of power. At the end of it a figure, crowned in imperial red, seen through a tear in the air. The Elder One, demanding servitude with an offer impossible to resist._

_Leader of the Seekers. Commander of knights. Lord Seeker Lucius Corin, master of templars._

_Weeks of studying, learning, imitating. The Lord Seeker reveals who he is, what he is, with every sharp-tongued reaction. Lucius Corin abandoned, hidden after taking his face, his armor, his templars. Easy as slipping into new skin._

_The Herald of Andraste protests as the templars leave the city. Small. Unimportant. Beneath a Lord Seeker's notice, but for instructions from the Elder One._

_Growing disbelief. The Herald, leading nobles, shining men and women whose power chokes a country. The Inquisition, rising larger than the templars. Unbearable envy. What is a Lord Seeker, compared to what the Herald will become?_

_Seething, consumed with want. Dreaming, wanting, needing to wear the Herald of Andraste's face when next meeting the Elder One,”_ Krem read the whole thing, confusion written on his face.  

“Well that’s creepy,” the dwarf deadpanned.

“I think I know what this is…,” Dalish called out and glanced at her comrades with a troubled expression. “It sounds like an Envy demon. I’ve never seen one in person, but my Keeper taught me about them. They are cowardly and greedy demons that want to take everything from the person – they want to become that person. They study their prey until they completely learn how to act like them. And they can even morph their appearance to look like another person.”

“From this text it sounds like the Envy demon took over Lord Seeker Lucius’ identity. No wonder he started acting so strange…it wasn’t really him at all,” Aclassi exclaimed.

“You’re telling us this Envy demon could be _anywhere_ , posing as _anyone_ ,” Stiches wore a disgusted grimace as he questioned his apostate friend.

“Exactly. And by the sound of it, it serves this Elder One and has a fixation on our Herald of Andraste. There is a good chance that it’s going to come after Lavellan.”

Krem scowled, “We have to write to Sister Leliana and warn the Inquisition, on the double!”

“We can send a raven from that village down the hill. _If_ those shems are even willing to help us…they didn’t seem too friendly earlier,” Skinner frowned.

“We better hurry then. The malevolent feeling in this place is still fresh. It’s so stifling, I can hardly breathe. The Envy demon couldn’t have left long ago. Maybe we can still hunt it down,” Dalish muttered with a shudder. Goosebumps crawled on her delicate skin from the unnerving atmosphere of this place.

~…..~

They located a tavern in the village where Krem sat down and wrote everything they found out in a letter, while the others talked to the Barkeep and a few patrons to try and get more information. When they came back to the table, each carrying a pint of ale, they compared what they learned with each other.

“Seems the tavern was a good place to start. Alcohol really loosens the tongue. Who knew, huh?” Dalish commented sarcastically, a sly smile spreading on her full lips.

I found out why the villagers are so on guard, especially with strangers. The eerie occurrences in Therinfal Redoubt are only half of the story,” Stiches started. “Apparently, a whole army of warriors and mages passed through here, going to the Seeker Fortress. By the description the people gave me, I’d say it was the Venatori.”

“Nugshit! The templars joined the Venatori - the same cultist bastards that tried taking over Redcliffe,” Rocky exclaimed in bewilderment.

“That is not all. Not long after Redoubt went quiet, strange things started happening in this village, too,” the rogue elf added her own information. “The barkeep says his apprentice started acting strangely the day after the Fortress went quiet. Then the next day, he completely disappeared.”

“I’m still surprised you managed to collect information by talking to shems without getting into a fight,” Dalish muttered at the rogue with a wry smile, innocently propping her head with her hand on the table. Skinner gave her an annoyed glance, but ignored the comment.

“I heard the same thing from another human. Seems like there’s been a few people that would act completely out of character and then disappear the next day, never to be seen again,” the dwarf confirmed.

The mage sighed, “This is definitely the work of an Envy demon. It passed through here.”

Krem pinched the bridge of his nose as he mulled over everything he heard. _*Damn, this is starting to get complicated,*_ he growled in his mind. “Our camp is a few hours by foot from here, so we better hurry. The sooner we reach them, the sooner I can get this letter to the Inquisition.”

~…..~

The rest of the Chargers set up a camp about a day’s walk from the Seeker Fortress, careful not to garnish any unwanted attention. Aclassi only took a few people with him so they would stay inconspicuous, while he had the rest of the mercenary company waiting in camp for further orders.

It was already nightfall when they arrived at the camp. He gave a familiar signal to the camp guards, indicating it was his group.

Shiela, a cheerful dwarven rogue, greeted them. She was on guard duty with another of the company mercenaries. “So, you find anything interesting?”

“Lots,” Dalish gave a dry smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Too many things, if ya ask me,” Rocky added with an exasperated breath.

“Shiela, go get a raven. We need to send one to the Inquisition immediately,” the Lieutenant ordered, holding up the report he wrote for Leliana.

The ordinarily-cheerful dwarf glanced at the letter nervously. “Actually…there’s something you should see first.”

The Lieutenant definitely didn’t like the troubled look on her face. It was rare to see her upset about anything. His voice came out drearier than he intended, as that familiar bad feeling gripped his gut again. “Lead the way.”

She led them to the cages were the correspondence ravens waited. They were all sleeping by now, softly fluttering their wings, with cloth covering their cages to keep out the firelight. Past the cages, she went to a makeshift table made from crates and picked up a long piece of paper. “This arrived not long after you left. It’s from the Inquisition’s spymaster. Luckily, they knew where to find us since we didn’t change locations from out last correspondence with Haven. It was good to set up headquarters and keep some of us here,” the dwarf smiled lightly, but it barely reflected in her greenish-brown eyes.

It was Krem’s idea to set up camp here as headquarters and let a trained raven go back to Haven, so their spymaster would have a raven that knew the Chargers’ location, and could use it for any emergency correspondence. That raven was now back at their camp with a message that made even Shiela feel anxious.

His group all huddled around him while their Lieutenant read the message silently. They could practically pinpoint the moment when Krem’s tanned face turned ashen white.

“Yeah…,” Shiela trailed off, knowing exactly what Aclassi was currently reading.

“What is it,” Dalish demanded, trying to see over Krem’s shoulder and failing since he was half a head taller than her.

He muttered a stunned reply, barely audible. “Haven has been attacked….It’s gone….Sister Leliana says it’s been razed to the ground.”

“What the…,” Skinner whispered, unable to form a proper question.

Everyone was in a state of shock. “The leader! What about Bull!?”

“The Chief’s fine. He’s alive,” Krem answered, and could hear a number of relieved sighs around him. “Also, apparently they appointed the Herald of Andraste the official leader of the Inquisition. They gave him the title of Inquisitor,” he added.

“Well it was about time they named him a proper leader. He was pretty much leading the Inquisition anyway,” Dalish shrugged with an unsurprised tone to her.

The Lieutenant chuckled, “Although he kept complaining about being called the Herald. He’s always saying the Inquisition’s success is a joint effort. I don’t think I heard him call himself a leader of _anything_ , even once.”

“Who cares about that part,” Skinner shouted in impatience, startling everyone. “What happened to Haven?”

After rereading the letter three times, their Lieutenant told everyone what the message stated. But even as the words formed on his lips, it sounded surreal – like something out of a storybook. An ancient Tevinter Magister attacked Haven with an Archdemon and burned it to the ground. The Haven survivors retreated and found an old castle in the mountains called Skyhold where the Inquisition was currently rebuilding. What’s more, the said Magister who some called the Elder One, commanded an army of templars corrupted by red lyrium, led by General Samson. It was all too much to take in at once.

“The Elder One? Didn’t that Envy demon write something about that on the Fortress walls?”

“Maybe the demon also works for the Magister,” Stiches shrugged.

“The guy’s name is Corypheus, according to Sister Leliana.”

“A mage and a demon…makes sense,” Rocky said. “No offense, Dalish,” he added.

“None taken. I’m well aware some mages are idiots who summon demons and use blood magic,” the elf dismissed it nonchalantly. “Besides, why would I be offended? I’m an _archer_ , remember,” she added with a sly smirk.

“And I’m the Nugking,” the dwarf muttered.

“Nug-king? I’m not even sure I want to know,” Skinner eyed him dubiously.

“…..,” Grim grunted in askance towards their leader.

“There’s nothing we can do, Grim. I’ve sent the raven back to Sister Leliana, so we have to wait for new orders,” Aclassi answered.

“But the Envy demon might escape before that!”

“I can’t act on my own, Skinner. This is too important and we’re a mercenary company working for the Inquisition now.”

“I’m more worried what other damage this demon will do. There are a lot of populated areas in Ferelden. A lot of small villages to hide in. It hides best when it has people to imitate,” Dalish muttered with a frown, her slim eyebrows curling to create small wrinkles on her vallaslin.

Aclassi groaned, tired and ready to call it a night. They needed rest for tomorrow. “We’ll have to track it down. You can sense its spirit, while Skinner and the other rogues can follow the physical tracks. Plus, we can always gather information about the strange occurrences and reports on missing people, like we did in the last village. Hopefully, the raven will come back to us tomorrow in the late afternoon, with new orders. For now, all we can do is rest up for tomorrow,” he suggested.

 “….,” Grim let out a short grunt.

Cremisius smiled, “It seems Grim agrees.”

~……~

The raven with new orders came back the next day, earlier than they expected. It seemed Leliana could understand the gravity of the situation and considered stopping that Envy demon a priority.

Krem gathered the usual group, who planned over a Ferelden map about their course through the area.

“What about the rest of us,” Gethwen asked. He was one of the elven rogues of the mercenary company, usually under Skinner’s orders.

“If we take too large a group, the Envy demon will see us coming and flee. It’s better if you stay here in the camp, Geth. We’ll definitely come back as soon as the damn thing is dead,” Krem explained.

The redheaded elf sighed, “Fine.” He was one of the newest recruits of the company so he hadn’t seen much action yet. He was obviously itching for it.

Shiela came to give her goodbyes to the group. “Don’t worry, we’ll hold the Fort,” she joked, giving their Lieutenant a wink.

“We appreciate it,” Rocky nodded at her.

The Chargers’ party left the main camp, going towards the direction of the nearest village. They didn’t know what awaited them there, but it was good a place to start as any.

~….~

The village was much larger than the one near Redoubt. With its farms on the outskirts and stone houses placed around in rings, with a large square in the middle; it could almost be called a small town.

The Chargers made a quaint group, with every race from elves to dwarf and humans, all banded together. That’s why it wasn’t strange that they were receiving curious glances from every passerby on their path.

With Dalish’s magic and Skinner’s tracking expertise, they followed the envy demon’s trail to this large village. They found a few animal and human carcasses on their way, devoured by something that wasn’t a simple beast. The most disturbing clue was shed human skin that the envy demon left behind from its last target.

“We are in a pretty populated area, with the demon that can shapeshift into _anyone_. This s going to be hard,” their healer commented as he watched each person passing them by with suspicion. Any one of them could be a demon in disguise.

“Do you think the thing knows we’re on to it,” the dwarf asked.

“I’m not sure we _are_ on to it,” Skinner answered sourly.

“We followed its trail this far. We might as well ask around to see if there were any strange activates here,” their Lieutenant suggested.

“Tavern?” Dalish asked with a smirk.

Krem nodded in agreement, “Tavern.”

As usual, the tavern was the best place to start. Everyone were half-drunk, loose tongued, and happy to talk about their strange experiences in the village since nobody around would take them seriously. Especially when a drunkard would talk about seeing his wife at the same time as she was seen having tea with her sister-in-law on the other side of the village. Everyone laughed at his crazy prattle. Everyone but an elf who listened in on the conversation carefully, before relying it back to the rest of the mercenaries.

“Honestly, the taverns are the best place in any town. You’ll either get a crazy drunken fib or get in a fight with someone. Either way, you get a great story out of it,” Rocky grinned.

“No wonder the Chief likes drinking in them so much,” Krem returned the toothy grin.

 “So I was thinking,” the elven mage started in a cryptic tone. “Maybe instead of running after the demon, it’s better if we let it come to us. Lure it into a trap.”

“Well sure. And it would be even better if it just committed suicide, but that doesn’t mean it’ll happen,” Skinner commented sarcastically with a shrug.

The other elf rolled her eyes at her callous Orlesian comrade.

“I’m sensing you have a plan,” Krem asked, interrupting their bickering.  

Dalish gave the group a mischievous smirk, her pale blue eyes glittering. “The demon wants Lavellan, we know that much. And the best way to get to him is to infiltrate the Inquisition, right? So how do you do that if you’re an Envy demon? That’s right; you take on the form of someone who is already a part of the Inquisition. And what do you know – there’s currently six such people in the very village the demon is hiding in!” The apostate grinned as she saw realization hit the others’ faces.

“So if we spread the word that we are with the Inquisition, we might lure the demon to _us_. It will try to take the identity of one of us.”

“….,” Grim made a long grunt.

“I’m with Grim; it’s pretty dangerous to make ourselves the targets,” the dwarven sapper muttered. His lips twisted beneath his thick mustache. “Not that I’m afraid to do it or anything!”

“It’s dangerous, yes, but it might be our best bet. It’s better than to run around the village, trying to guess who the hidden Envy demon is,” Skinner said.

“So we spread a rumor that Inquisition agents, the Bull’s Chargers, are in this village.”

“How do we do that?”

“Well, where’s the best place to start a rumor?”

They all thought for a while, then concluded in unison, “Tavern.” Luckily, they were already in one.    

~…….~

It was churning. Twisting with impatience.

The Herald. The Herald was promised to it. Promised by the Elder One.

It listened. It set a trap in Redoubt, but the Herald didn’t come. The tricky Herald avoided the trap. Now it grows ever more impatient.

But there are whispers again. Human whispers that are promising. The Inquisition, here, in this village. So close it could smell it. It could taste it. Taste the Herald. Become the Herald. _Be_ the Herald.

It churned again. It twisted faster. So close to another skin. _Better_ skin. It needed more. More than this saggy flesh of an old woman nobody cared about. The world didn’t care about her! It needed someone the world admired, worshiped, adored. It needed someone like the leader of the Inquisition.

One word repeated. One word whispered among the villagers. One name – ticket to the Inquisition, to the Herald. One name – the Bull’s Chargers.

But it needed to see first. To learn about them. Their feelings, innermost thoughts and secrets, their beliefs. It needed to _learn_ to become them. It wanted to know more. It wanted to see in their minds and know _everything_.

Wait until darkness shrouds them. Carries them in their dreams. See inside their minds through the haze of the fade. See what makes them tick. See what makes them _them_.  

Cremisius, Skinner, Dalish, Rocky, Stiches, Grim…the names carried to the Envy demon’s mind. The names beckoned it towards them. It will know everything about them before it puts on a new skin.

And then they will lead it…lead it to the skin it yearns to take – that of Nymrodel Lavellan.

~…..~

The next day, after a good night’s rest, the Chargers started making preparations for their trap.

“The problem is, the Envy can look inside your mind. It can come to you with a face of someone from your past and act exactly like it saw in your memories,” the apostate elf explained.

Stiches frowned at her words. “So how do we recognize an imposter then?”

“Whoever it tries to mimic, it will have to kill the original so it isn’t discovered before reaching Lavellan,” Skinner added.

“Which means it will attack one of us.”

“So what, we should just let it attack us,” Rocky asked with a grimace.

“As long as we all stay together, it won’t get a chance to infiltrate us. But there’s a good chance it will use trickery to try and separate us. That’s how Envy demons work. So we should create a fake opportunity for it instead. One of us gets lured away, so the demon attacks them thinking they’re vulnerable, and then we spring a trap on it instead,” Dalish grinned.

“We are so lucky to have an archer who is such an expert on the arcane,” Krem smirked, his teasing voice laced with sarcasm.

The others chuckled, and the apostate stuck her tongue out at him playfully.

Dalish continued, “And remember; this transition is when Envy is weakest, for it is vulnerable as it moves from body to body. We must strike at that exact moment.”

“So who’s gonna play the bait,” the dwarf asked.

They all looked at him silently, their stares already hinting at the answer.

“Oh, come on!” Rocky exclaimed through his shocked frustration.

“You don’t have a connection to the fade so you are least likely to be influenced by the demon,” Dalish explained with a shrug. She was still giving him that teasing stare, making the dwarf glower at her. 

“Fine,” he exhaled in defeat, finally relenting. “Stupid mimic demons and fade-crap…,” he mumbled under his breath in annoyance, while he drank his ale - despite the fact that it wasn’t even noon yet. He called it ‘Breakfast Ale,’ and in return the Chargers called him an alcoholic dwarf…then again, isn’t that just a regular dwarf? 

~…..~

Rocky walked around the market, minding his own business with a sour look on his face, when Krem approached him.

“Did you see anything suspicious,” his Lieutenant asked.

The dwarf grimaced behind his mustache. “Not yet. Are you sure the Envy demon will come after me? What if it attacks Dalish while everyone’s looking my way? I mean, she is a ma-…well, you know,” the man cleared his throat.

“All you need to do is listen to my orders, don’t question me,” Krem barked back in a sharp tone, giving Rocky a pointed stare for a moment.

The sapper was taken aback so much, he literary took a step back. “Yeah…alright, Lieutenant. You’re in charge,” he murmured, wanting to calm the Tevinter down. * _What’s gotten into him all of a sudden? Maybe all this demon business has gotten to him. He must be stressed,*_ he concluded.

“Come. We must prepare for the trap. It’s here,” the warrior turned his back to him and started walking away from the market in a brisk pace.

“I thought you already set the trap?”

Aclassi glanced over his shoulder, giving him another annoyed look. Right, he was questioning him again. Trotting after the warrior, Rocky tried to follow the hurried step as best he could.

It wasn’t long before they left the market and entered the winding narrow streets of the village. The road wasn’t paved anymore, but muddy and filled with horse dung. It clung to Rocky’s boots no matter how much he tried to avoid it. There were less and less people passing them by, until only the dwarf and his Lieutenant were walking through the area.

That was when Cremisius suddenly stopped. Not expecting it, the sapper almost bumped into his armored back.

“So tell me Rocky…why do you fight with the Chargers,” Krem abruptly asked.

The dwarf blinked, completely puzzled. “I’d think you’d know that best, Krem,” he answered humorously.

Krem looked dissatisfied with that answer and turned around in anger, his tanned face twisting into a snarl. “Answer me! I want to know!”

Once again, the dwarf took a step back. This time, for caution rather than surprise. His expression darkened as he watched his comrade in arms. “You’re not really Krem, are ya?”

The Tevinter let out a dry snicker, his usually-mellow face twisting into a hateful expression he never showed before. His voice changed, sounding like scraping of paper on drywall. “You are absolutely right. Now give me…give me all of yourself!” Krem charged at him, but before he had time to reach him, a ball of stone smashed into his side and sent him flying into the wall.

“Hah! Take that you soddin’ shit,” Rocky exclaimed in victory, albeit too soon.

“Rocky,” the real Krem called out with worry in his voice as he and the rest of the gang ran over to him, taking up arms.

“The plan worked!”

“It’s too early to celebrate. Look,” Skinner interrupted their merriment as she pointed at the fake Aclassi who was rising to his feet.

“He’s more resilient than the real deal,” Dalish mumbled darkly, taking her staff with both hands. For once, her expression was completely humorless.

 The fake Krem molded into an old woman, who then started collapsing into herself like the body’s innards were being sucked dry, leaving nothing but a shed of skin. A clawed hand ripped through the skin, and a white monster emerged from what was once a person. The demon stood on its hind legs, towering over them all. It was even taller than the Iron Bull, who easily had two meters of height. There were no eyes on its scraggy skin, but deep reddened scars covered its hairless head.  

Dalish grimaced in disgust, “That is officially the creepiest thing I have ever seen.”

Hissing, the Envy demon opened its maws, showing its crooked teeth. It inverted its spine until it crawled on all six legs, like some deformed spider.

“Alright, I stand corrected. Because _this_ is now the creepiest thing I have ever seen,” the elven mage pointed out.

Skinner was the first to move, running at the demon to try and flank its side, but the Envy was quicker. It swung its arm at her and flung the rogue away, sending her flying.

It pounced in the air and landed right in front of the real Krem, taking the warrior by surprise.

“You will do,” the demon screeched, just as Krem swung his sword at the monster.

The Tevinter gasped and blinked as the ambient around him suddenly changed. He wasn’t standing in some back alley of the village surrounded by his comrades, anymore. Instead, he was in a small glen, with nothing but trees and cobblestone paths that led into the unknown. Mist flowed through the area, obscuring his vision.

“What is this place? Where am I,” he called out, hoping someone could answer.

And someone did. “You are in your own mind…Here, I can see everything. Learn everything that you are…that you know.” It was that scraping voice of the Envy demon.

Krem shuddered. _*Trapped inside my own mind? How is that possible? How do I get back?!?*_ He took a deep breath to avoid panicking, but swarms of questions wouldn’t leave him. He wondered what was happening in the real world, outside. Were the Chargers still fighting the demon, or were they imprisoned just like him? The only thing that brought him some comfort was the feeling of hard steel in his hands. He still held his sword and shield – his last line of defense against the Envy.

A voice came from behind him and he turned around quickly, widening his eyes at the sight. His parents stood there, the same as how he remembered them. Maker, how long has it been since he last saw them?

His mother’s voice sounded distorted, “You don’t like your own skin. Your own self feels wrong. Wouldn’t it be better to shed it away? To give it to me, instead?”

His father continued, “Wouldn’t it be better to give this _wrong_ body away?”  

Krem clenched his jaw as hard as he clenched the sword in his hand. He wanted to lash out, to cut down these creatures that obviously weren’t his parents, but he was worried it would lead him into some kind of trap. He didn’t want to act rashly.

He took a step back instead of forward, but a voice came from his right this time. He quickly turned, shield raised.

It was his Qunari boss himself, but his eyes were different – glowing green. “Or maybe it’s your _mind_ that is wrong. Distorted.”

As Krem’s chest squeezed in hurt, he could hear the loud beating of his heart in his ears. It was deafening. _*No…The Chief would never say something like that. This place is all wrong. I need to get out. I need to find a way...*_ Scanning around, his eyes focused on the many paths that led out of the glen. _*I’ll just pick one. It’s better than staying here.*_

Just as he stepped forward, a sword came at him and he quickly blocked it with his shield. As he lowered it a little, he gasped, seeing himself right in front of him. The person looked exactly like him, except for those eerily glowing green eyes. In disdain, he noted the imposter was even armed the same.

“Tell me what you feel right now, as you look at yourself, like in the mirror! Like when you pretended to shave next to your father. Tell me what you think now,” the Other Krem demanded angrily, before he slammed his shield into Krem’s.

Krem stayed quiet, determined not to give the demon any information it was seeking. He knew it fed on knowledge, and he had no intention of giving it what it wanted. Instead, he sidestepped and pierced at the other’s outer thigh. He caught the other warrior by surprise, nt giving him time to react. Even if he looked like Krem, he apparently lacked his skills in combat. The Other Aclassi raised his sword and slashed down at the warrior, but he blocked with his shield. Another attack came, this time to his side, yet he blocked again. The hits were strong, tough, and he was slowly being pushed back.

The voices around him continued to speak, but luckily none of them were attacking. “Tell me. I want to know. I need to know! I need to take the skin for the Elder One! For myself!”

Right after another attack of the sword, the fake Cremisius tried to slam his shield into Krem’s chest. Krem sidestepped again and spun on his heel until he was at his side, where there was an opening between the front and back armor plate. He lunged at the other warrior, stabbing him through the ribs.

An angry cry came from the Fake Krem as he crumbled to the ground. He spurted black bile as he spoke, “You cannot defeat the Elder One! He will kill the Empress and raze Orlais to the ground with his demon army! He will destroy everything, just as he did at Haven! The Herald cannot-”

Before the demon could finish, a bright flash blinded Krem and he felt the ground disappear beneath his feet. He gasped when he was flung away, and fell to the ground with a loud clatter of his armor. He stared in shock, realizing what he was looking at wasn’t some dark misty sky, but instead normal, grey clouds of the real world. Sitting up, Aclassi could see Dalish standing in front of him with the end of her staff on the ground, like she just finished a spell. The Chargers surrounded him. Sighing in relief, he realized he had returned from that nightmarish place.

A loud cry came from the front and he saw the Envy demon slide back on the ground, twisting and turning its body to try and regain its footing. It looked in pain, although it was hard to tell. It was on the defensive now, pulling back from the dangerous force in front of it.

“Don’t let it get away,” Krem called out, quickly rising back to his feet.

The Envy demon suddenly twisted its spine to turn from them, four long legs on the ground. As it changed course, it quickly slithered towards a house and climbed on its wall with astonishing speed.

Dalish hurled a fireball from her staff and Skinner an arrow from her bow, but both missed as the demon quickly slid across the rooftop and disappeared.

“After it,” their Lieutenant shouted.

“How? We can’t climb buildings like it can,” Skinner argued with a scowl.

The Tevinter clicked his tongue in frustration. He was getting too worked up, but after his experience with the Envy demon, it wasn’t surprising. “Dammit! We were so close!”

Dalish put her hands on his chest to calm him down. It looked like he was about to storm off after the demon by himself. “Hey, calm down. What happened?”

“Yeah, it looked like you zoned out for a second, and almost got eaten,” the sapper added with an equally worried expression as the mage.

Cremisius closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm down and think. “The Envy demon…it somehow trapped me inside my own mind. How long was I out? It felt like at least half an hour…”

The Chargers all looked at each other with curious stares. Finally, their healer talked, “You were just staring into space when the Envy attacked, but it didn’t even last a full minute. As soon as Dalish saw it was going for you, she stepped in front and blasted it away with some spell.”

He blinked, “It felt much longer in my head.”

“Good thing we were here, huh? If you had fought with it alone, it would’ve cut you down while you were in yer trance,” Rocky grinned proudly.

Krem gave him a small smile, “You’re right. I’m lucky you have my back.”

“And don’t ever forget it,” Skinner smirked.

“….,” Grim agreed.

“But the demon got away…now we have to start all over again.” Dalish sighed in disappointment.

“It won’t stop until it has one of us, I’m sure of that. It’s relentless. It will come at us again,” Aclassi stated darkly – he could sense the lust for knowledge when he met Envy in his mind, along with the greed behind it. This demon won’t give up that easily. “And it will be more careful and shrewder next time.”

“What happened inside your mind?”

Putting on a troubled face, he glowered at the memory. He didn’t want to worry his friends, but some of that was too personal and too fresh to share at a time like this. His parents, everything the Envy demon said…He decided to tell the less private part of it, “It mentioned the Elder One. It even confirmed he is planning to kill Empress Celene and march a demon army across Orlais. But it’s nothing new; we already knew that from the Inquisitor’s time in that Dark Future he was thrown into.”

“Then let’s just focus on bringin’ the soddin’ bastard down,” Rocky pointed out. “The next time I see it, I’m gonna blast the shit out of it!”

~…..~

It failed. How could it fail! Anger. Hurt. Pain where the mage’s spell hit. Frustration. How could those little creatures hurt _it_!? How could they overpower _it_!? It was seething with rage, with envy. _It_ should be the most powerful.

Not enough information. Not enough knowledge. That is why it failed!

Next time it won’t fail! Next time it will take its new skin! The appropriate skin! Cremisius Aclassi! Aclassi will die for this! Die for this!

It roared in pain and anger, slithering through narrow, muddy backstreets like a wounded animal. Next time, it will separate them. Kill them one by one. _Be_ them one by one! It needed a new skin _now_.

It rummaged through Aclassi’s memories. Memories of the Chargers. Memories of the Inquisition. What hurt him the most while he was trapped? What made him react the most while the Envy talked to him?

What was most important to each of them? _Who_ was important to each of them?

It needed to learn. It needed to know everything. It needed to become _more_.

~……~

The next morning, Dalish practically invaded Krem’s room as she slammed the doors open. She barged in just as Krem was changing into his clothes.

“This is bad!” The elf exclaimed, ignoring Krem’s bound breasts while the other fumbled with his shirt in a hurry.

He quickly pulled the shirt down, working on his boots next. “I’ll say! Don’t just barge in here!”  

“Oh, please, like I’ve never seen you naked before. Besides, it’s nothing I don’t have myself. You want to make me uncomfortable? Show me Rocky’s naked form again. On the other hand, _don’t_. That one time on accident was enough for me. That man is all hair, I tell you.” She shuddered at the memory, her pretty features twisting into an expression of disgust.

“Dalish! Focus,” the warrior snapped his fingers, bringing the apostate back to reality.

“Oh, right,” she blinked. “Everyone’s down already so come quickly. You won’t like this.” She closed the doors and disappeared as abruptly as she entered – the woman was like a hurricane.

After their battle with the demon yesterday, the Chargers took up lodgings in the village. Luckily, the local tavern also rented out rooms upstairs, so they didn’t have to look far.

Krem quickly put on the rest of his clothes and armor, then went downstairs. He could see the rest of his group leaning out the window, pushing each other to see outside. Voices boomed from the outside, in the village square, and he strode towards the open doors to see what was happening. A large crowd was gathering outside, surrounding a wooden platform that the village used for news criers or executions. The person currently standing on it and giving a speech in a Nevarran accent is what glued the Chargers’ attention to the sight. They would recognize those harsh features and dark eyes any day. It was none other than the Seeker, Cassandra Pentaghast.

“Wasn’t the Seeker supposed to be somewhere in the mountains, rebuilding the Inquisition?” Rocky’s face constricted into a puzzled frown.

“Yes. There’s no way she would be here…right?” Stiches glanced at Krem, a bit unsure.

“:….,” Grim grunted in agreement.

They couldn’t believe what they were seeing, and neither could Krem. But that was hardly the worst part. It was her speech that really shook the Chargers in the first place.

The woman spoke loudly so all the Village could hear. “This mercenary company, the Bull’s Chargers, are so-called troops of the Inquisition, but that is not so! The truth is, they are traitors of the Inquisition. They are deserters, _criminals_! When Haven was attacked, they fled instead of standing their ground and fighting the enemy forces! They are to blame for Haven’s fall! The Inquisition’s fall! I, Cassandra Pentaghast, as one of the founders of the Inquisition, tell you this – the Bull’s Chargers should be captured on sight and brought to me for justice!”

The Chargers gaped at her words, realizing the Seeker was turning the whole Village against them.

“I bet you my bow that isn’t really the Seeker,” Dalish mumbled.

“You think,” Skinner retorted sardonically.

“It doesn’t matter, if the villagers believe her,” the Lieutenant answered bitterly.

A clatter of chairs around them was what brought them out of their engrossing conversation. Feeling the burning gazes on them, the Chargers all turned around slowly. Some of the people in the tavern recognized them and were now eyeing them suspiciously. A few of the bulkier men slowly stood up, reaching for their daggers.

“Prepare to run,” Skinner whispered to her comrades under her breath.  

Krem cautiously glanced around for a way out, since the front doors were out of the question. He saw a backroom behind the bar and guessed it led to the storage room, and then to the back alley. Those storage rooms usually had a door that connected with the street, to easily bring new supplies in. “There,” he gestured with his chin to the doors, careful not to alarm the villagers of their intentions.

Skinner nodded, then quickly threw two flasks on the ground. As they shattered on impact, a thick smoke spread across the room, obscuring everyone’s vision. “Let’s go,” Krem yelled and the Chargers ran for the room behind the bar. He pushed the villagers aside as he ran, but didn’t hurt any of them. The last thing he wanted was to additionally demonize the Chargers – the Envy was already doing a good job of it on its own.

His speculation proved correct and they soon found themselves in the back alley, behind the tavern. They could hear confused and angry shouts from behind, and knew it was only a matter of time before their pursuers called for backup. They couldn’t stay there a moment longer.

~…..~

Dalish sighed, “So what do we do now?”

Grim grunted in displeasure.

“Yeah, it’s not my favorite place to be either, but we don’t really have a lot of choices,” Stiches sighed.

“I think I have straw in my trousers,” the dwarf grumbled.

They managed to sneak out of the village and towards the farmlands. They were currently hiding in a large barn, on the outskirts of the village. But all of them knew it was only a matter of time before someone notices them. The horses moved in agitation in their boxes, snorting at the uninvited guests. The mercenaries sat in hay, trying to ignore the strong stench of animals and manure.  

“So the Envy won a battle. Now we’re even. We can still turn it around,” Rocky continued.

“It has a whole village after us,” Krem groaned in frustration. He put his head in his hands and ruffled his short hair, desperately searching for a solution.

“Pssst.”

A soft voice startled the Chargers and they turned towards the barn gates. There, a young girl of no more than 8 hid behind the gates, staring at them suspiciously. She whisperingly called out to them, “Are you the bad people my papa is after?”

The mercenaries glanced at each other, perplexed. If the girl suspected they were ‘the bad people,’ why talk to them instead of running to call an adult?

“Your papa?”

The girl nodded. Her blonde hair, tied in two braids, danced around her freckled face. “He is the village official,” she said with a voice filled with pride, although it sounded like something she memorized without understanding the meaning of it clearly.

The Chargers glanced at each other, before huddling into a circle to whisper among themselves, “You think he would believe us if we tell him the village was infiltrated by a demon that can take other people’s identities?”

“Without proof?”

“Maybe if we explained it in detail…”

“Or maybe he calls reinforcements and we end up on that pretty platform with a noose around our necks.”

“Whatcha talking about?” A sudden voice right behind them made the mercenaries jump in start. They turned around to see the girl rocking on her heels, hands behind her back, as she watched them curiously. “Mama says it’s not nice to whisper to each other in front of others,” she pouted, feeling excluded from the conversation.

“Well didn’t mama also teach you not to talk to strangers,” Skinner asked in an annoyed tone that clearly suggested “scram.”

The other elf elbowed her in the ribs and gave her a warning, sideways look.

The girl hummed, watching the elven rogue with two big green eyes. “But you’re the ones hiding in _our_ barn,” she countered.

Rocky snickered, “Heh. Got you there.”

“We aren’t bad people. We just…got into a little bit of trouble,” Cremisius started to explain. “There is a bad creature after us, and we need to find it before it hurts anyone.”

“What…kind of creature?” The girl drew back a step, suddenly appearing fearful.

He exhaled slowly. _*Great, now I frightener her,*_ he chastised himself mentally. “A demon.”

Suddenly tense, the girl bit her lip. After a while of thought, she spoke up again, “Then…you will kill that demon, right?”  

The mage apostate whistled, “This is one dangerous kid.”

“We’re trying to,” their healer mumbled in disdain.

“Then I’ll help!” She suddenly announced, giving them a determined smile. “My name is Luca!”

“Whoa, wait a second! That’s too dangerous,” Stiches protested.

“Nice to meet you, Luca. We are the Bull’s Chargers,” Dalish ignored the healer, introducing them to the girl.

Luca blinked, tilting her head to the side inquisitively, “Who’s Bull?”

The Chargers all grinned as if she just said an amusing joke. “Someone you definitely don’t want to piss off.”

“And that also holds true for his men,” their Lieutenant added with a dangerous smirk.

~…..~

The girl brought them some food from the house, along with a map of the village by Krem’s request. She even showed them the best ways to move about without too many people noticing – “back streets where she often played with her friends without the grownups catching them,” she explained.

“Now be a good girl and stay inside your house. Don’t go out until the demon is taken care of,” the elven mage warned her like a stern older sister.

“Yes, ma’am,” the girl answered, albeit begrudgingly.

The Chargers were just about to leave when a sharp scream coming from the inner village drew their attention. Luca gasped in fright, “What was that.”

“Go inside, _now_ ,” Aclassi ordered, then nodded for his companions to move out.

As the girl ran back to her house, the Chargers hurried towards the sounds of screams. The noises got louder as people shuffled and commented in fearful, hushed voices. They stopped dead in their tracks at a grim scene. A woman was standing over what was once a body, but now looked as if nothing but skin remained, while everything else was sucked dry. A crowd of people was already gathering around the panicking woman as they examined the dead body with disgust. The villagers whispered in shock among themselves.

“I-it looks like the butcher, Vance.”

“Who…What did this?”

“A demon!? Was it some kind of demon?”

“How? How did he end up like this…It’s just skin, with no guts or bones.”

Krem turned towards the Chargers, whispering, “Once again, the demon has changed identity and left the old one behind.”

Just then he saw a familiar face running towards them. “Luca! Didn’t we tell you to stay home?” He scowled at the reckless child.  

“But he told me to get you. That it was important. He…told me to tell you he is also with the Inquisition. That he was sent to help…with the _demon,_ ” she whispered with a knowing stare.

The mercenaries glanced at each other dubiously. “Who did?”

A troubled shadow passed over her expression. “Um…I didn’t catch his name. But he said he was here to help you – the Bull’s Chargers, he said.”

“It could be a trap,” Skinner murmured into her Lieutenant’s ear.

“Still better than running around blindly. Just stay on your guard,” he responded back in a whisper.  

Alas, the Chargers had no time to catch a break and think of what will come next. “Hey, it’s them! The traitors of the Inquisition Seeker Pentaghast mentioned,” one of the villagers shouted as he spotted the mercenaries. As he pointed towards them, all eyes turned to them. Deadly stares pierced them.

“I bet they were the ones responsible for this murder,” a woman screamed in anger.

Soon, every gaze was filled with bloodlust. “Get them!”

The villagers, armed with barely any weapons yet outnumbering the mercenaries, rushed at them in blind rage.

“Shit. We can’t hurt civilians,” Krem warned with a shout, but they were getting overpowered by sheer numbers. He dodged one fist, then blocked a knife before tackling a villager to the ground. Attacked and overrun by the village folk, the Chargers had no choice but to split up. “Just run! We’ll meet up at the farm,” Aclassi relayed to his companions and turned to escape. He saw Skinner and Dalish disappear around the corner of the closest alley. Rocky and Stiches also made it out of the crowd, and were running in another direction. He sought out Grim with his eyes and saw him do an arm throw on one man over his back. He tried to rejoin him, but a group of villagers stood between them. “Go,” he mouthed to Grim, then turned to run into the closes alleyway, praying to the Maker it wasn’t a dead-end.

~…..~

“Are you sure this is the right way,” Dalish asked, trying to regain her labored breathing. Both she and Skinner stopped to catch their breaths momentarily. With Skinner’s roguish skills, they somehow managed to hide from the villagers. She held her breath in earnest while she watched the angry shems pass them by without noticing them.

“How should I know, I’ve never been to this backwater village before,” Skinner growled in annoyance. Not at the mage, but at the situation in general. All this running and hiding was pissing her off, and she was supposed to be used to it as a rogue. “I’m really starting to hate this place.”

“What, you think we should leave the villagers to their fates, then,” the apostate asked tauntingly, knowing full well Skinner wouldn’t really want that.

The other elf snorted. She was peeved, but not yet so callous to doom these ignorant shems for their stupidity. They needed to kill the Envy; if nothing else, for that little runt girl who helped them. And also, because the damned demon was _really_ starting to get on her nerves.

The apostate smirked, getting the answer she wanted even if Skinner didn’t actually say anything. “Then let’s go meet up with the others.”

 Skinner opened her mouth to retort when she noticed a familiar dwarf passing around the corner. “There. Rocky!” She grabbed Dalish by the wrist, and pulled her into a run after the dwarf.

“Hey, wait!” She exclaimed in surprise, but the rogue wouldn’t let go. 

As they reached around the corner, there was no one there. And nothing but a dead-end.

“How can that be? I was sure I saw him,” Skinner muttered.

Dalish narrowed her eyes in suspicion. She stayed quiet, carefully listening around them and sensing for any insidious aura. Feeling something coming from behind, she spun around swiftly, only to see Rocky standing behind them.

“What are ye guys doing? Come on, let’s go,” the dwarven sapper called out, stepping towards them.

Skinner huffed, “Rocky, you scared the crap out of us.”

“Wait.” Dalish stopped her elven friend from proceeding any further. “We can’t know if that’s the _real_ Rocky,” she warned.

“By the Ancestors, Dalish! Of course I’m the real Rocky. Aren’t I unique,” he laughed in jest.

“Sure sounds like him with that bad sense of humor,” the rogue muttered bleakly.

“Do not be fooled, we can’t know for certain.”

“Alright, then ask me anything. I’ll answer right, you’ll see,” the dwarf challenged.

But Dalish knew the Envy demon listened in and pried in people’s minds. It studied and learned of its future victims. Of its future identities it would take. Even if Rocky answered her questions correctly, it didn’t necessarily mean it’s not the Envy pretending to be him. And she could still feel this nagging feeling somewhere in the back of her mind. Finally, the mage smirked. “I have a better idea.” She summoned a fireball in her hand.

“Uhh, Dalish,” Skinner asked, starting to feel uncertain.

“Are ya crazy, Dalish?! That’ll kill me,” Rocky exclaimed in alarm.

“Mmm-hmm.” The fireball in her hand grew bigger, the fire swirling around as the heat intensified. “Don’t worry. If you get too burned, I’ll heal you,” she nonchalantly retorted.

 Cold sweat appeared on Skinner’s temple and neck. She gulped as she saw the dwarf panic even more than her.

“Dalish!” Rocky screamed and Skinner gasped, as she threw the fireball at him.

Yet the dangerous spell never hit. Rocky disappeared from the spot, the fireball flying past and hitting a wall behind him. Instead, what used to be Rocky, swiftly dodged by jumping onto a wall where it was now crawling across. The Envy demon growled as its four long legs and two small, atrophied ones, scrapped on the stone.

“How dare you! You, who wasn’t even wanted by your own Clan,” the demon hissed in spite as it snarled at the apostate.

Dalish glared at the white creature, her tone turning murderous, “Don’t talk like you know me.”

Skinner clicked her tongue in irate and quickly threw three daggers at the creature. The Envy slithered away, but one hit its long leg, making the demon screech in pain. It suddenly jumped off the wall, right towards the two elves.

Dalish summoned a blast of energy to push it away, but not before the demon clawed at Skinner. The rogue dodged to the side, but one sharp claw scraped her forearm, ripping through her sleeve and all the way to the skin. The apostate’s spell managed to push the demon away and Envy slammed into the wall.

Ignoring her wounds, the rogue lunged at Envy, taking out her dual daggers from her sides. She spun on her heels, slashing at the demon horizontally and slicing through its thin legs.

With an angry screech, the demon grabbed the rogue with its other two legs and tried to sink its teeth into her flesh. It got a mouthful of pure energy from Dalish’ spell instead. It hissed angrily, before jumping up and digging its claws into the stone wall. Clinging to the wall, it started climbing, scuttling upwards on its four legs.

“It’s getting away,” the mage shouted in alarm, throwing another fireball at the demon.

The fireball missed as the demon disappeared on the rooftops. But it did not run away entirely. Dalish and Skinner could hear its voice echoing around them, even though they couldn’t pinpoint its exact location.

“Two little elves…One suffering in the alienage, the other abandoned by her Clan. Poor little elves…,” a mocking tone of Envy sang.

“Why don’t you say that to my face, you coward,” Skinner shouted in anger, glaring at the empty space around her.

Envy’s voice continued, undisturbed by her threats, “Why aren’t you with your Clan, Dalish? Even though you are a mage…you should be a Keeper’s First. Or….did the Clan already have too many mages,” the demon guessed.

Dalish’s eye twitched – a subtle change in her expression the demon instantly caught. It fed on knowledge about people, after all, so it was an expert on studying them.

“Aaah,” the demon noted in interest. “So that is it…Your Keeper chose someone else instead of you, so you were left behind. You weren’t _good enough_.”

The elven apostate gripped her staff tighter as a painful pang stung her chest, even as she tried to hide it. 

“Shut up, you bastard!” Skinner retorted instead of her. “Don’t listen to it, it’s only trying to mess with your mind!”

“I know,” Dalish murmured, narrowing her eyes at the demon she couldn’t see.

“Oh! And there is the other one. Always so tough, aren’t you? Always ready to argue.” The Envy turned its attention to Skinner. “Hiding under that thick skin. Who could ever want such a _belligerent_ person by their side,” the demon cackled.

Skinner snarled. “You have nothing on me, demon.”

The monster cackled again, this time sounding like nails scraping against a wall. “Not _yet_.”

With that last threat, the malicious presence around them suddenly disappeared.

“Is it gone,” Skinner asked the mage, unsure and still rigid from being on guard.

Dalish was silent for a while, listening and feeling the atmosphere. Then she nodded. “I believe so.”

The rogue sighed. “At least we managed to wound it.”

The mage tightened her jaw in irate, “And you got hurt in the process…Show me your arm, I’ll heal it.” 

“I’m fine,” the other complained, but stretched out her arm for her anyway. As she saw a blue healing light envelope her forearm, she glanced at Dalish’ focused face. “About what the demon said-,” she started carefully, not wanting to antagonize her friend.

Dalish interrupted her before she could finish, “Don’t worry about it. It’s just trying to get a reaction out of us so it can trick us into revealing more about ourselves. Don’t take the bait.”

It was evident she didn’t want to talk about it, so Skinner respected her wishes and left it be. “All right.”

~…..~

Cremisius cursed under his breath as he snuck around the streets, clad in a stolen cape he found drying on a nearby rope. The dark grey cloth concealed his heavy armor and the hood kept his Tevinter features from plain view.

 _*I have no time to waste, I need to find the others.*_ He picked up his pace and walked in a hurry, cringing every time his armor rattled under his step, bringing about unwanted attention from the passersby. One thing he couldn’t get out of his mind was what Luca said earlier; _“He came to help you!”_

 _*Yet who is_ he _,*_ Krem asked himself, despite being unable to find an answer. He headed for the farm the Chargers agreed to meet at, but he doubted they could stay there long without endangering the little girl. _*Surely her parents won’t help us now, either. Not after what they witnessed in the village. Everyone thinks we are responsible,*_ he sighed mentally.  

That’s when he spotted them – Grim, Rocky and Stiches, talking with someone, heatedly flailing their arms. He jogged closer to the group and gasped when he saw they were talking to none other than the Iron Bull; well, Stiches and Rocky did all the talking and Grim made grunting noises. The Qunari hid his horns and face with a cape much like Krem’s, but he could hardly hide his large frame. He was starting to attract attention. The rest of his comrades added to that as they continued explaining to him everything that happened in a confusing rush.

“Chief,” Krem exclaimed, his heart suddenly feeling a whole ton lighter. He couldn’t help but widen his lips in a relieved smile, his brown eyes sparkling with life.

Bull noticed him approaching and gave him that wide, confident grin of his. So this is who Luca meant when she said an agent of the Inquisition came to help them.

“I heard from Red that you’ve encountered a pretty nasty demon, so I came to lend a hand. Seems like you need it,” the Qunari’s grin never faltered.

Krem gave a nervous smile, but for just a second there, Bull’s words felt off. _*No, well, if he headed to Ferelden right after receiving our message, it’s not strange that he got here in time. I should be glad. But…then why am I feeling like this?*_ A part of him was relieved, but something was itching deep under his skin. _“Seems like you needed it,”_ he said. _*Well that’s true…But it’s not like we are well over our heads with this mission,*_ he mulled over the words. Didn’t the Chief usually have more confidence in them?

The odd feeling was discarded when Rocky interrupted his thoughts, “We should get away from here before the villagers notice us.”

“That’s right. We agreed to meet with the others at a farm nearby,” the healer informed Bull.

Bull nodded, “Let’s not waste any more time, then.”

~…...~

As they walked on the unpaved path towards the farmlands again, the Chargers kept talking to the Iron Bull with relieved smiles on their faces, telling him of everything they encountered on their mission so far.

Bull laughed, “You’ve been busy. Don’t worry, now that I’m here, we can’t lose, right? Just listen to me and that demon will be food for the vultures…uhh, do vultures even feast on demons?”

Rocky laughed, “It’s good to have you back with us, Chief.”

Krem gave a weak smile, but he still couldn’t shake off this funny feeling he had. The Qunari sounded like Bull and yet…just a little bit off. “Hey. What exactly happened in Haven?”

Bull hummed in question, glancing over his broad shoulder at Krem. “Haven?” His tone barely sounded concerned. “A shitstorm, that’s what. They were completely obliterated.”

“Don’t you mean ‘ _you_ ,’” he corrected. “You were there too, right?”

Bull blinked with one good eye, then smirked. “Hey, I’m not so weak that I would die there, so no, not me.” 

Now even Grim, Stiches and Rocky stopped walking, watching the Iron Bull curiously. That didn’t sound like something he would say. But an Envy demon….that thing would never admit that it wasn’t strong enough. That it _lost_ to something.

Suddenly, he felt his throat and lips go dry and he swallowed, before licking his lips to wet them. He decided to ask one final question. One thing that would really lift any veil of deception left. “Chief…You know, I always wanted to thank you…you accepted me into your Company and made me your second-in-command…even though I’m not really a man. Doesn’t it bother you sometimes? After all, Qunari don’t have women warriors, right?”

In truth, Krem and the Iron Bull had a similar conversation about this long ago. It was when the Chargers and Bull decided to appoint Krem as their Lieutenant. He didn’t know how to respond at the time, especially after his dreadful experiences in the Imperium military. But even to this day, he remembered what Bull had told him then.

The Iron Bull in front of him smiled, though there seemed to be a glint of annoyance in his eye. As if wordlessly telling him to stop wasting his time on such nonsense. “Hey, come on Krem, I don’t care that you’re not a real man. You know that already.”

Cremisius huffed. A small smile lingered on his lips, but his eyes were blank now. He was far from happy. “Close, but not quite right, _Chief_ ,” he muttered. He took out his sword from the sheath on his hip. The rest of the Chargers took a step back from the Qunari, realizing it wasn’t their leader.

Grim was the first to attack, swinging down with his giant two-handed sword. Bull jumped backwards, dodging the blow, then took the large axe from his back. With a roar, he swung downward once, right in the middle of where the Chargers were standing. The axe shook the ground, splitting it around the weapon and rising the dust in the air, until a cloud enveloped everyone and obscured their vision. 

Coughing, Krem put a hand over his face to try and shield his mouth and eyes from the dust. When the cloud settled and he opened his teary eyes, he saw something large and white running across the high grass and into a golden-colored cornfield. It disappeared from sight, and he could only see the wheat stalks shaking wildly as it passed through them.    

Grim have a grunt, bringing everyone’s attention. He was pointing in the direction of where the demon disappeared, but also past that.

“Grim’s right. The farmhouse we are about to meet at is that way.”

“Luca,” Stiches exclaimed in alarm.

They ran for the farmhouse, cutting their way through the cornfields just like the Envy demon did.

“Sod it all, dwarfs weren’t made for running,” Rocky shouted while he legged behind as they ran as fast as their legs could carry them. 

Arriving at the barn they hid in before, they could see Dalish and Skinner already waiting for them. They stopped for a second, completely breathless. Both Grim and Krem wore heavy armor and Rocky had to work twice as hard to keep up, so they were all drained by the time they finally arrived.

“What’s going on,” Dalish asked, seeing the men were in distress.

“The demon…it went for the farmhouse. Did you see it?”

“Uhh...no?”

“It might already be inside with Luca,” Krem realized in dread.

The Chargers all gazed towards the small house connected to the farm. Luca’s home.

“We need to check it out,” Stiches demanded.

Grim nodded in agreement, staying silent but tense.

“Then what are we waiting for,” Skinner growled, taking deliberate steps towards the house.

The Chargers all followed suit, even as the woman practically burst through the unlocked doors.

“Hello!? Anyone here!?” Dalish called out, clutching at her _bow_ with a crystal on top, with both hands.

“What should we tell the people living here? ‘Hello, we just committed a crime of breaking and entering, but it’s for your own good,’” Krem asked with a sigh.

“Who cares?! If they complain about the door, just tell them the demon did it,” the rogue shrugged.

“Guys!” A high-pitched, happy voice made them all flinch and turn around. They saw those familiar big green eyes glinting in excitement.

“Luca! You’re ok,” Stiches smiled warmly, feeling relieved.

“Come! Meet my new friend. He said he’d keep me company until mama and papa arrive. But he said you’ll be joining us too,” she squealed. She took Krem’s fingers in her tiny hand and dragged him into the other room, still talking. The rest of the group followed after them. “He’s a man, but he’s really pretty. And his face is painted, like Dalish, but different. And he has strange white hair, and funny ears like Dalish and Skinner…Ah, cause he’s an elf!”

The group glanced at each other in wonder, then laid eyes on an elf sitting in an old chair, legs crossed. He smiled politely, but there was a burning hunger and malice in those big crystal-blue eyes.

“He said he’s the Herald of Andraste,” Luca continued, running over to him.

“Luca, don’t!” Krem tried to stop her but it was too late. The girl already joined the white-haired elf, and the man put a hand on her shoulder as he drew her closer to him.

The one with the face of Lavellan smirked at the Chargers, “It’s the Inquisitor now, actually. Humans are so fickle, they can’t even decide what to call me,” he chuckled, but there was something malevolent in that act.

“Let go of her. _Now_ ,” Aclassi hissed, glaring at the fake elf.

The girl blinked in confusion. “What’s wrong, Krem? Aren’t you all friends? The Herald said you were friends.”

The tattoos on Nymrodel’s face twisted along with his expression, as he grinned slyly. “That’s right…Aren’t we all friends, Krem?”

Skinner took a step forward, but as soon as she did, Nymrodel’s hand on Luca’s shoulder squeezed. Not enough to hurt her, but enough to make the Chargers realize the demon was holding her hostage and had no qualms about killing her.

“What do you want, _demon_?” Dalish purposely called him that, to enlighten Luca on the dangerous reality of the situation.

Luca’s eyes widened in fear, “Demon?” Her voice wavered, suddenly sounding small and soft.

“Don’t worry, Luca. We won’t let it hurt you,” the Tevinter announced in confidence.

His determination didn’t go well with the demon, however. “Oh, is that so? Such hollow confidence…for someone so insecure inside.”

The girl started struggling in the demon’s grip, but it held her with vice-like strength now, bruising her shoulder. “No! Let go!”

“Just tell us what you want,” Krem seethed in anger.

“You.” The demon grinned and stood up slowly, still holding the girl close to him. “I want to know all about you. And then, all about the Inquisition and Nymrodel Lavellan, through you.”

He gulped, remembering how easily the Envy demon invaded his mind before. But he also recalled another fact; when he defeated it in his mind, it weakened it somewhat, giving the others a chance to wound it. Perhaps, he can do it again. “And if I agree, you will let the girl go?”

“When I learn all I can from you, I will let the girl go,” Envy promised with a sly smile. His tongue licked his lips like a starving man in front of a feast. It might have had Nym’s face, but that was where all similarities ended.

“Don’t be a fool, Lieutenant. Demons always trick you in the end. No deal can end well with them,” Dalish argued, glaring at the fake Herald.

Krem smiled back at her, “That’s why I have you to watch my back.” He gave her a knowing smile that made Dalish stop mid-argument and stare at him in interest.

“Alright, demon. Let’s see what you’ve got,” he glowered back at Envy.

The demon screeched in glee, its voice nothing like something an elf would produce. In the next instant as Krem blinked, he realized he wasn’t in the farmhouse’s living area anymore. Instead, he was back at those strange crossroads in the glen, enveloped by a thick mist.

“Last time you tried to defeat me here, you failed Envy,” he gloated, shouting at the air.

“This time will be different. This time I know even more about you, Tevinter,” a voice responded from seemingly nowhere.

People started appearing around him again, and Krem instinctively took out his sword and shield, preparing for battle. He swallowed hard when he realized the people surrounding him were his friends – Dalish, Skinner, Rocky, Stiches, Grim and even the Iron Bull. They were all here, staring at him blankly with those greenly glowing eyes.

They all spoke in unison, like they shared a collective mind, “Let us begin, Cremisius Aclassi.”

~…..~

“I can’t believe that idiot let himself be pulled into the demon’s trap,” Skinner barked, completely enraged by the situation.

Grim growled, concurring with her.

“Calm down, it’s not over yet. He knows what he’s doing, so let’s believe in him,” Dalish muttered, still staring intently at the eerie person in front of them.

Envy held onto the struggling girl, staring back at the apostate. “Do not worry, elf. You will be next.” It smiled reassuringly, yet it came out looking twisted.

“You’re cornered. You have nowhere to run,” their healer glared at it.

The demon hissed. Its laugh sounded like it was choking on paper. “We shall see-,” it suddenly cut off, its eye – Nym’s eye – twitching.

The Chargers watched it in confusion as they saw it jerk its head in anger, then growl, as if it was fighting a battle inside its own mind. No, inside _Krem’s_ mind.

~…..~

Krem ran, although with labored steps from all his heavy armor and weapons. He didn’t stay in that glen like last time, but instead chose a cobblestone path and started on it. He was trying to keep his distance from the things chasing him – things that still held the form of his friends.

The path was winding, leading through the trees as a glen turned into a forest. The mist kept sticking to his limbs as if trying to pull him back and slow him down. He could hear numerous footsteps behind him, thundering on the cobblestone without any rhythm. They were getting closer.

 _*Now,*_ he told himself and swiftly turned around, rising his sword and shield. He didn’t wait to see who it was – didn’t want to see. He blocked an incoming sword and stabbed with his own weapon, piercing the attacker’s chest. Two light grey eyes widened as they stared at him, confusion and pain in them, as if wordlessly asking him ‘ _Why_?’ Krem found himself face to face with the scarred face he would always recognize. “Stiches,” he whispered, aching guilt dripping from his words. He wanted to apologize, to explain, but stopped himself. _*It’s not really him. This is all a lie! It’s not him,*_ he kept repeating in his mind.

He saw a flash of metal coming from his side and quickly pulled his sword from the healer’s chest, stepping back and raising his shield. The impact from the large sword was so heavy and strong, it almost brought him to his knees. His shield arm was numb with pain coursing through it from the blow. But years of training steeled his grip, and he held the shield up despite his shaking arm. He saw an armored warrior in front of him, wielding a giant two-handed sword that was almost as long as he was. “Grim,” Krem stated sourly.

The person said nothing, only attacked again, swinging his sword at him horizontally. Krem held his shield to block, digging his feet into the ground so he wouldn’t be swept away by the strong blow. On impact, the metal of his shield rang like a loud bell across the dark forest. The shield resonated and shook, as he felt another stab of coursing pain in his forearm. Even as he supported his shield with his shoulder, he still felt the sharp impact in his wrist. Grim’s broadsword was a force to be reckoned with, and so was the man himself. He was much brawnier than he appeared. Krem knew his shield arm wouldn’t be able to take many more of those strong blows, but it was hard to find an opening and leap forth to attack - Grim’s sword was much broader and longer than his longsword.

A voice echoed from the darkness around him. “Give up. Wouldn’t it be easier to just let go. It is just a matter of time. Your friends will die, and then you…But ‘you’ will come back to the Inquisition as the lone survivor of the demon hunt.”

The Tevinter gritted his teeth, “Like I’ll let that happen!”

“Like I’ll let that happen,” Envy repeated in the same tone. It sounded disturbingly close to his own voice.

 He waited for another horizontal strike from Grim’s sword, aimed for his head, then crouched low and jumped down into a side-roll to avoid it. Rolling back to his feet, still in a crouch, he slashed with his sword. The slice cut into the man’s thigh just above the knee - he had to aim for places that weren’t heavily armored in steel.

The fake Grim stumbled, but stayed on his feet. He swung with both hands, bringing his weapon down towards Krem’s head. Aclassi was still down on one knee when he lifted his shield to block the attack as best he could. The strong impact rattled his arm, but he took that opportunity to push the shield up and to the side, sliding the weapon away with it and leaving Grim open. He stabbed upwards with his sword, piercing the man’s side, just below the ribs. Grim doubled over and took a few steps back, the sword sliding out of him. He groaned in pain, hacking blood as he coughed.

Krem could hear more footsteps approaching and glanced to see the Chargers running towards them, armed to the teeth. With one final slash of his sword, he sliced Grim’s throat and ended his suffering – if it could even be called ‘an end’ for an apparition.

He was breathing hard, tired an aching, but he started his run again. It was his only tactic – run until one or two opponents caught up, then defeat them before the others join the fight, and then run again. He glanced over his shoulder again, seeing two bodies of his friends bleeding lifelessly on the ground. He clenched his jaw in anger, ignoring the guilt bubbling inside him, as he knew full well it was what the demon was counting on. Without looking back, he escaped the bloody scene.

“Aaargh! Useless! Useless! Just give up and let me subdue you! You think I am not learning of you this way? But I am. Your every reaction, every emotion, every expression; it all tells me of you! It all helps me to know you!” Envy screamed after him from the darkness, but it sounded angry now. Less patient than before.

Aclassi smirked at the frustration in its voice. This was working. And he was sure it was also having effect on the Envy outside. He only had to hold out long enough for his comrades to finish the job. He knew they could do it. He believed in each and every one of them.   

~…..~

Envy twitched again, this time letting out a soft growl.

The Chargers understood it was experiencing something…something was happening inside of Krem’s mind and it was making it lose its concentration. It wasn’t focused on the girl so much either. 

Dalish saw Luca catch her breath and watch her silently. She gave a tiny nod to the girl. Not long ago, it was a gesture the Envy would surely notice and act upon, but not this time. It was too preoccupied battling inside of Krem’s mind.

Skinner also noticed it and she stepped a bit behind Dalish, masking her movement from clear view. She carefully took out a throwing knife, keeping her eyes on the twitching creature. The next moment happened in a split of a second, but it all felt as if in slow-motion. Skinner threw her knife and it pierced the fake Nym’s shoulder of the arm that was still holding Luca. With a surprised yelp, the demon momentarily loosened its grip, allowing the girl to wriggle herself out and escape. The demon reached after her as she frantically ran towards the Chargers, but it was stopped when a shower of wooden splinters flew at it.

Dalish used her magic to crumble a chair and used those sharp pieces of wood like weapons, sending them flying with great speed towards the demon.

Nym’s body dissolved before their eyes, rising in stature as the new body towered over them. Even for a demon, Envy looked deformed in its true form. It screeched at them in anger.    

Rocky sneered in disgust, “Paragon’s balls! No matter how many a time I see its ugly-ass form, it still makes me want to vomit.”

“Luca, run outside and tell the villagers what happened,” Stiches ordered her, pushing the girl out of the living area and through the front door.

The girl looked behind her in uncertainty, “But you-”

“We’ll be fine,” the healer assured her. “Now go, child!”

The demon tried to go after her. It slammed one hand into Dalish, sending her flying, then quickly dodged a sword attack from Stiches. It clawed at Skinner who tried to flank it, and jumped out of the window, shattering the glass in the process.

“Don’t let it get away!” Stiches jumped out of the window after it.

Dalish acted fast, summoning her cold magic. The freezing ice enveloped the demon’s many legs, immobilizing it for a moment. It hissed in anger, trashing around. The apostate was momentarily distracted as she heard Krem cough and moan in pain. He looked deathly pale, even with his Tevinter-tan skin. Whatever Envy was doing in his mind, the connection needed to be broken _fast_.

Envy managed to shatter the ice around it, only for its way to be cut off by Grim. It clawed at him with two long arms, but the man quickly moved the broadsword in front of him to block both of them. He stepped back and swung his sword sideways, aiming to split the demon in half. It jumped in the air to avoid it, but Skinner already predicted that move and sent four daggers flying into the air. It twisted in the air to dodge them, but two hit its side and shoulder, and it growled in pain. It turned its attention to the rogue and landed right on top of her, making the elf lose her balance and fall beneath the white monster. She grit her teeth in agony as she felt Envy dig her claws into her shoulders, to hold her down. The demon opened its jaws wide, ready to sink its strangely human-looking teeth into her neck, when it suddenly stopped.

 It hissed as if hurt, its thin body trembling. “No. No! How dare you! Stop resisting!” It didn’t sound like the shout was meant for her.

Skinner didn’t waste this chance. She pulled out her dual daggers and slashed at its exposed throat, making the demon gurgle and sneer, pulling back like a wounded spider.

Rocky helped her up, then threw yellow powder at the demon’s face, which burned its skin like acid. It screamed in surprise. 

“I think Krem’s dealing blows to it in his mind and it’s weakening Envy,” Dalish called out as she ran outside.

The Chargers quickly surrounded the demon, not letting it escape this time.

It hissed menacingly, moving around and slashing at them like a cornered animal. Every time it would attack one mercenary, another would strike at it.

Grim used an opportunity when it tried attacking Dalish and cut one of its long legs off. It bellowed in pain and tried to jump over the circle of mercenaries, only to be stopped by Dalish as she uprooted a large boulder from the ground and sent it flying right at the demon. Stiches cut off its other leg, leaving it only with two long ones.

“This cannot be! This cannot be! Don’t you know who I am!?”

It suddenly changed appearance again, turning into a form of a badly injured Seeker Lucius. “I am Lord Seeker Lucius! How dare you attack me,” it shouted in his voice.

Skinner responded by kicking the man in the gut, hard, “Don’t fuck with us!”

Dalish clicked her tongue in annoyance, summoning fire in her hands and blasting it in waves at the fake Lord Seeker.

The man screamed, first in a human voice, but it soon turned into a monster’s howl of pain. The human morphed again, turning into Lavellan. “I am the Inquisitor! I am the Herald of Andraste!” Once again, all it got was a sword attack from Grim, cutting off another leg so it wouldn’t escape, while Stiches pierced his sword through its side. It screamed and writhed, dragging itself on the ground. Nym changed again, this time to a form of their Company’s captain. The Iron Bull’s voice resonated like thunder as he demanded, “I command you to stop! That’s an order!”

“Give it up, Envy.” A familiar voice came from the entrance of the farmhouse. The Chargers looked back to see Cremisius walking over to them. His shield was still on his back, but he had his sword in hand. There was a confident smirk on his lips, even though he looked mentally exhausted.

“Krem!”

“Lieutenant!”

The Chargers exclaimed in relief, grinning from ear to ear when they saw him alive and well.

“You’re alright now?”

Krem chuckled, “Yeah. I was under some serious stress inside my mind, but the more of Envy I defeated, the weaker it became outside, right? I thought I’d be able to keep it occupied long enough to give you guys a chance. Seems I was right,” he grinned.

“That was some crazy plan…Don’t _ever_ do that again,” Skinner glared at him.

“I owe you one, too. You guys injured it enough that it accidentally broke its hold over me.” Krem gave her a smile, but it soon faded as he walked over to Envy. It changed back to its real body again, and was twisting and trashing in pain on the ground, still screaming at them.

“Impossible! Impossible! How could I lose!? I, the Senior Enchanter! I, the Lord Seeker! I, the Magister!” It kept rambling about its past identities, completely losing all sense.

Aclassi’s sword came down in one swift move, severing Envy’s head from its body and ending its cries for good. The body kept twitching like a headless insect even after it died. He sighed, “Finally over.”

Just as he said that, angry shouts and voices traveled towards them. The Chargers gazed up to see an angry mob of villagers charging their way, armed to the teeth with knives, pitchforks and anything else they could find.

“I think you said that too soon,” Dalish winced, and Grim grunted in agreement.

“A bunch of armed, angry shems…I can tell you from experience that never ends well,” Skinner snarled.

“It’s them! The traitors! Get them!” One of the villagers shouted, but a small girl stepped in front of the angry mob.

“No, you’re wrong! They saved me from the demon! It was all the demon’s fault!” The girl desperately screamed at the top of her lungs to be heard.

The men and women of the village frowned in wonder, but luckily the irrefutable evidence was still twitching on the ground, in all its deformed glory – or at least what was left of it.

Krem pointed at Envy’s corpse and smirked, “The kid’s right.”

~…..~

The Chargers stood at the outskirts of the village, the sun rising over the horizon as the pale sky greeted a new day. Luca’s parents decided to let them stay the night in their home as a ‘thank you’ for everything the Company did for the village. They rested and got a free meal and lodging, before heading out again. It gave them time to recuperate and for Stiches to heal their wounds.

The parents nodded to their daughter and she ran over to the mercenaries to give them one final goodbye before they left the village.

“Thank you for protecting me,” Luca smiled at them from ear to ear, her freckles dancing on her cheeks as she did.

Grim, the ever-so-serious warrior, knelt down in front of her and brought a hand from behind his back. There was a single white flower in his hand, and he handed it to the girl with a nod. His expression stayed humorless even then. The girl smiled at him, her face beaming brightly. It was a face cute enough to melt even the coldest of hearts. He patted her head as she took the flower in her small hands.

“I’ll miss all of you,” Luca said with a sad smile.

“You’ll be ok, lass. Just stay tough like you were against that demon, huh?” Rocky winked at her.

“And no more making friends with strangers, alright!? You’re making your parents worry,” Skinner warned with a stern expression.

The girl nodded firmly. “I promise, I’ll be careful.”

Dalish smiled, “There’s definitely an adventurer in you, da’len.”

The Chargers said their goodbyes to her before turning back to face the road ahead.

“Where will you go now,” Luca asked.

The Chargers exchanged glances, knowing smiles lingering on their lips. “It seems there’s one more asshole whose ass needs kicking, so we better get to it. I bet the Chief is all worried by now, too.” Krem smirked, his eyes gleaming.

As they hit the dirt road, they could see Luca waving for a long time before she and her parents became nothing but dots in the distance. Soon, even the village was barely in sight – only a smudge on the horizon behind them.

That’s when Rocky spoke up, “You know where we could stop by before we reach the main camp?”

The Chargers were silent for a while before one of them responded, “Tavern?”

“Tavern,” the dwarf exclaimed and his friends laughed in unison.

 

* * *

 

Glossary:

 _Da’len_ – Little one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fun to write. I like that I could make somewhat original content for DA and my take on the whole Envy hunt with the Bull's Chargers. I wish I could've made some parts more detailed, like their relationship with Luca, but it was already getting pretty long and I wanted it all to stay in one chapter. Still, I hope you liked the chapter, and feel free to leave a comment if you did! See you in the next chapter! :)


	15. Varric's Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something stirs beneath the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I hope you enjoy the newest chapter, and feel free to leave a comment with your thoughts and opinions on the story!

 

As time passed, the repairs at Skyhold were quickly progressing. Every day, the castle looked a bit more defensible, a bit sturdier, and it was only a matter of time before it was completely reverted to its original splendor from ages past.

Nym, now as the appointed Inquisitor, was bringing another briefing from his advisors to a close. Cullen was informing them on anything he knew about Samson and his mysterious ties to Corypheus, while Leliana got word from the Bull’s Chargers about their successful hunt for the Envy demon, who also turned out to be an ally of the Elder One. It appeared the ancient blighted Magister had help from all kinds of sources, much to the advisors’ concern. The Chargers sent word they were on their way to Skyhold, and Nym couldn’t help a small smile, thinking Iron Bull would surely be pleased to hear the good news.

Leaving the War Room, he stepped back into the throne hall that wasn’t as cluttered with ruble as it used to be. It was still far from the shining grandeur Josephine envisioned, but the Inquisition laborers were working towards it. He was sure the Ambassador will take the redecorating of Skyhold into her own hands, however.

His step was halted when he heard a clearing of throat behind him. He turned to see his dwarven friend standing there rather awkwardly. “Varric?”

“Hey, Snow. Remember that _guest_ we were expecting? My friend,” the man reminded carefully, as if afraid someone might be listening. Knowing Leliana’s spies, someone probably was.

The Inquisitor stiffened, his long ears perking up a bit, “Has he arrived?”

“Follow me.”

The two took a winding road of stairs to the battlements, and Nym noticed they were using the paths less traveled by other people. Varric must’ve chosen them on purpose so they wouldn’t attract too much attention on their way.

“How did you get him inside without anyone noticing?” He asked, partly out of interest and partly to pass the time while they climbed up the many stairs side by side.

The dwarf sighed, “I had help from Leliana and her agents, since I didn’t want too many people knowing about this.” Nym was sure he meant Cassandra first and foremost. “But since Leliana knows, it’s only a matter of time before the other bigwigs of the Inquisition also find out he’s here.” Once again, Nym was certain the dwarf mostly thought of the Seeker as he said that.

Opening the door of the tower, they stepped onto the rampart and squinted their eyes to preserve them from the light that hit. As they walked on the wall, Nym could see a lone figure standing on one of the watchtowers, leaning down over the wall to gaze at Skyhold’s garden.   

The human turned around to greet them, and Nym couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous as he realized he was standing in the presence of a legend. Perhaps not as big of a legend as Hero of Ferelden, the slayer of an Archdemon, but hero none the less.

“Nymrodel Lavellan, meet Hawke – the Champion of Kirkwall,” Varric introduced them.

The human standing before them was tall and muscular, much more than one would expect from a mage. And a mage he was, judging from the staff strapped to his back – it was almost as tall as he was. His short hair was rustled and raven black, much like the unshaved patch of skin on his chin. Two piercing blue eyes turned to meet the elf’s curious gaze.

“Though I don’t use that title much anymore,” Hawke added.

 Varric gestured towards the elf, “Hawke – the Inquisitor.”

The apostate whistled at the title, and Nym had to fight the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation. “I know…It sounds like I lead an army of heavyweight knights and trample over everything,” he responded dryly.

Hawke chuckled, “I know what you mean. I never got used to the whole Champion of Kirkwall title myself. It’s a long-ass moniker too…”

Varric shook his head as he listened to them both complain about the same damned thing. “I’m glad you two get to bond over your mutual distaste of titles, but I was thinking you might offer him some friendly advice about Corypheus instead, Hawke.” He grumbled in distaste at the memory, “You and I did fight him, after all.”

Nym raised an eyebrow at this, “You fought him too, Varric? You never mentioned that.”

The dwarf was still scowling. “Yes, well, I try to keep stories about myself believable. And I distinctly remember saying “If he pulls a dragon out of his ass, I'm leaving!” at the time,” he pointed out in irate.

The elf laughed despite the situation, “Then I’m surprised you’re still here.”

“Believe me, so am I,” Varric shook his head again.

Hawke joined the conversation. “I’m not sure I can be of much help to you. You’ve already dropped half a mountain on the bastard and yet he lives. I’m sure anything I can tell you pales in comparison.” He went to lean on the edge of the battlement again, gazing down at the bustle of people busying themselves around Skyhold.

Everyone were rushing around with their given assignments – there was still so much to do, but also because it helped them forget about the devastation they suffered at Haven, if only for a moment. The same was true for Nymrodel as well.

“I’m more proficient at fighting a horde of rampaging Qunari…or crazed templars and blood mages,” the apostate shrugged.

The first thing Nym thought of when he mentioned rampaging Qunari was a scarred laughing face of a particular grey giant who was currently going over some of the Ben-Hassrath reports with Leliana. He tilted his head in amusement, “There’s _a_ Qunari. He almost qualifies as a horde all by himself. Fortunately, he’s on our side,” he smirked. Hawke smiled at that.

He joined him at the wall, gazing down at the same garden below. “Whatever you can tell us might help. You never know. We have some resourceful people in the Inquisition who might find the information useful for our upcoming battle.”

The mage nodded, “So what can I tell you?”

“Varric said you two fought Corypheus before,” he gestured at the dwarf, who somehow managed to find a bottle of wine and was now sipping from it. At better inspection, there was a crate serving as a table nearby, with a few bottles and glasses on it. Hawke and Varric must have been drinking together prior to this meeting.

“Fought and killed. The Grey Wardens were holding him and he somehow used his connection to the Darkspawn to influence them,” Hawke explained.

“Corypheus got into their heads, messed with their minds. He turned them against each other,” Varric added. “And we didn’t just _think_ we killed him. He _was_ dead. No pulse, breath or anything. Yet somehow, he rose from the dead,” he mumbled sourly.

“Our spymaster said all Wardens disappeared, and she wasn’t able to contact them,” the elf hummed in thought.

“It could be that they have fallen under his control again.”

The Inquisitor groaned, “So Corypheus has the Venatori, the Red Templars, and now the Grey Wardens…Wonderful.”

Running his fingers through the dark, short locks of his hair, Hawke reassured him, “Hey now. I didn’t come all this way just to give you bad news…well, not all of them are, anyway. I’ve got a friend in the Wardens and he was investigating something unrelated for me. His name is Stroud. The last time we spoke, he was worried about the corruption in the Warden ranks. Since then, nothing.”

“Corypheus would certainly qualify as corruption in the ranks,” Varric started. “I remember Stroud…from that one awkward meeting where your brother almost died from the Blight and Stroud took him away to the Wardens,” he added, less than enthusiastic. “Did Stroud disappear with them?”

Hawke shook his head. “No. He told me he’d be hiding in an old smugglers cave near Crestwood. He was investigating the odd red lyrium we found on our expedition with Varric’s brother, Bartrand – the same lyrium that drove Knight-Commander Meredith insane. After that incident, I’ve been trying to find out more about the strange substance.”

“Red lyrium…the same shit which is now corrupting Templars working with Corypheus,” the dwarf scowled, giving the Inquisitor a knowing look.

Nodding, Nym agreed, “Then we should check it out. This Warden Stroud is the best lead we have on the Grey Wardens since we recruited Blackwall. And as much as Blackwall has been helpful to the Inquisition, and I appreciate it, he really didn’t give us anything useful on the Wardens’ whereabouts.”

Hearing that, Hawke’s expression turned sour. “If you have a Grey Warden in your ranks, better be careful. He might be suffering the same kind of corruption as the rest of them.”

“That reminds me; how’s Junior doing,” Varric asked. The last he heard, Hawke’s younger brother was still with the Grey Wardens – the only thing that managed to save him once the Blight sickness entered his body.

His friend turned his back on the wall and leaned on it with his elbows. “Aveline took him far away from the Free Marches. He should be safe from whatever the Wardens have gotten themselves into.”

“That’s good to hear, at least,” the dwarf sighed.

“What about the rest of your group? I read the Tale of the Champion –it seemed like all of you were inseparable,” Nym joined in.

Hawke smiled and there was a gentle gleam in his blue eyes as he did. It was apparent he thought of them as precious. They weren’t just his friends, they were his family. “They are all dealing with this crisis in their own way. The templar-mage war has left a trail of chaos behind it, and now Corypheus is destroying what little is left of the world,” he sighed.

“A war we might as well started,” Varric darkly mumbled.

“Or so we thought at the time. We all separated so that we would be harder targets to find for the Exalted March...but it never came, and it turns out we shouldn’t have bothered. The Circles all around Thedas rebelled, and the whole thing was much bigger than just Kirkwall. Still, Corypheus is my responsibility and that is why I’m here. My father sealed him a long time ago and the Carta dwarfs came after me and my brother because they needed our blood to set him free. This time, I will make sure he is dead for good. I’ll do whatever I can to make that happen,” There was pure determination in Hawke’s voice.

“Still, I’m surprised you were able to come here without the broody elf following you. I wouldn’t think he’d let you go off alone,” Varric noted.

Even though there was a troubled expression on his face, Hawke smiled lovingly. “Fenris would’ve killed himself to protect me, and I couldn’t let that happen. I am _not_ losing him too.”

The way Hawke looked as he talked about Fenris - it was a look Nym recognized and a small blush appeared on his cheeks when realization hit him, “Oh….Oh! You and Fenris from the Tale of the Champion! I…I see.” So Hawke had a male elven lover, an escaped slave no less. He would’ve guessed such a thing would surely cause a scandal among the shems, considering the Champion became such a legendary figure in their history, and Nym knew they had a problem with their heroes being romantically involved with _knife-ears_. No wonder their relationship was always left ambiguous in Varric’s book.

The mage chuckled, “Yeah. Anders did tell me once I had a thing for cute elves…I guess I do have a soft spot for them since I always feel the need to help them out.” He grinned playfully at the Inquisitor, a mischievous look in his intense eyes.

The elf blinked in wonder before the meaning truly hit him. He flushed, realizing Hawke was teasing him.

Varric laughed at his flustered expression, “Don’t worry. He’s just a flirt, but he’s all talk. He would never actually do anything to betray Fenris…and also the brooding elf would kill him if he ever cheated.”

“That’s true,” Hawke gulped. “Besides, as cute as your Inquisitor is, he’s still no match to my Fenris,” he gave the dwarf a grin, before turning to Lavellan with a devilish curl of his lips.

Rolling his eyes, the dwarf complained, “Oh come on, now you’re just being embarrassing. And I wrote you as such a cool guy in my book.”

“What? I _am_ a cool guy,” the mage exclaimed in protest.

“Uh-uuh,” his friend gave him a skeptical stare in return. 

Nymrodel laughed at the two bickering companions. It was apparent they were close friends, and he could understand why Varric liked this man so much.

Deciding to change the subject, Hawke loudly cleared his throat. “Anyway, Fenris is currently dealing with slavers who are trying to take advantage of the war’s aftermath to prey on the weak.”   

The rogue storyteller nodded. “You can just follow the trail of bodies to find him later. I swear that Elf has spikes growing out of him, and the only one who can pacify him is Hawke. He’d be raging at Blondie or Daisy one moment, then Hawke would calm him down and he’d only grumble silently towards him – he’s like a cat that only has one master. I’d even dare say it was cute, if I wasn’t worried he’d kill me for it,” he sighed. “And why do you look so proud about that?!” He exclaimed, seeing Hawke’s goofy grin on his face.

Once again Lavellan laughed at them as they started another round of friendly bickering.

~…..~

“You conniving little shit!” Cassandra’s voice boomed throughout the whole building as she tried to slug the roguish dwarf. Luckily, he was more dexterous than one would expect, swiftly dodging under her punch and running passed her to the other side of the room.

“You kidnapped me! You interrogated me! What did you expect!?” Varric argued, matching her glare with his own.

Nym flew up the stairs of the forge and lunged between the two. He was breathless, running across half the Skyhold as soon as he heard Cassandra stormed off to find Varric after learning Hawke was at the fortress.

“That’s enough,” the elf shouted. He knew this would happen. He could see this image clear in his mind as soon as Varric admitted he knew of the Champion’s location and called him to Skyhold.

“You’re taking _his_ side!?” Cassandra switched her frustration on him, yelling at him for the first time after he was released from the murder chargers.

Yet he did not waver. “I said _enough_!” His voice rang even louder, accompanied by a warning snarl.

Still glowering, the Seeker shook her head in disbelief, but she moved away from Varric. “We needed someone to lead this Inquisition. First Leliana and I searched for the Hero of Ferelden, but she had vanished. Then we looked for Hawke, but he was gone too. We thought it all connected, but no. It was just _you_ ,” she stared back at the dwarf with venom in her glare. “You kept him from us.”

“The Inquisition _has_ a leader,” Varric argued, pointing at Lavellan. 

“Hawke would have been at the Conclave! If _anyone_ could have saved the Most Holy…,” she started, her voice breaking in pain before she could finish the thought. Even if Cassandra kept her emotions bottled up, she was still torn up inside by what happened at the Conclave. She simply couldn’t let it go, no matter how much time passed.

 “You don’t know that,” Nym interrupted. “He could’ve saved her, or he could’ve died there with everyone else.”

“That’s right! I was just protecting my friend,” the dwarf yelled, still heated.

“You’re not entirely blameless either, Varric,” the Inquisitor gave him a pointed stare. “Even after the Conclave, when the Inquisition needed him, you kept Hawke secret. More than _two months_ ,” he reminded. 

Unable to argue with the facts, the dwarf pressed his lips together. Instead, he guiltily stared at his feet.

Cassandra was silent for what seemed like a long time. The other two were still on guard, not sure what to expect from her sudden change in attitude – perhaps it was only a calm before the storm. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. When she opened them, there was cold anger seething in them. “That is right. Varric is a liar, Nym. A snake,” she hissed the insult.

Varric glared at her, “He’s with us now! We’re all on the same side!”

The woman snorted, “We all know whose side you’re on, Varric. It will never be the Inquisition’s.”

Nymrodel shook his head, “That’s unfair. Varric helped us so far, and risked his life for the Inquisition more than once. Attacking him now won’t do us, _the Inquisition_ , any good.”

“Exactly,” the storyteller exclaimed.

“And you better not be keeping anything else from us,” the elf turned his stern gaze at him next. He tried to douse the flames by pacifying both sides.

Varric huffed in anger, tossing his arms in the air, before grumbling as he relented, “I understand.”

Finally, the two were starting to calm down. Feeling the tension in the atmosphere lessened, Nym let out a fatigued exhale.

The Seeker turned from them both, leaning onto the railing of the upper floor. “I must not think what could have been. Go, Varric. Just…go.”

Varric glanced at Nym, and the elf gave him an urging nod. It was better to let Cassandra cool down first. Still frowning, the dwarf uttered no more arguments, and headed for the stairs. He paused on the first step, giving the woman one last look. Nym could see defiance in the man’s eyes. “You know what I think? If Hawke had been at the Temple, he’d be dead too. You people have done enough to him.” With that, he disappeared down the stairs, his steps echoing before they cut off with the slamming of the doors.

Nym relaxed, knowing Cassandra was less likely to go into another raging fit now…probably.

“I…believed him,” the woman started, disgust in her voice. She was feeling irritated at herself as much as she was at Varric. “He spun his story for me and I swallowed it. If I’d just explained what was at stake. If I’d just made him understand…” She shook her head and turned towards Nym, flopping into a chair as if weakness suddenly overtook her. “But I didn’t, did I? I didn’t explain why we needed Hawke. I’m such a fool.”

He sat on a chair opposite of her and stared at her tortured expression. “Even if you tracked Hawke down, he might not have even agreed to become Inquisitor. I met the man, and he mostly just wants to be left alone to live a peaceful existence…Hard to believe after everything he’s been involved in, I know,” the elf shrugged with a wry smile.

Despite herself, Cassandra broke into a smile too. It was short-lasting, however. “He wouldn’t have trusted me, a Seeker of Truth, for a second. He supported the mage rebellion, after all,” she concluded, before her expression turned plagued. Regretful. “But this isn’t about Hawke, or even Varric. Not truly. I should have been more careful. I should have been smarter. I don’t deserve to be here.” Her tortured expression twisted in pain as she shook her head.

Nym’s eyes widened. He was truly shocked that she would think like that, after everything he saw her do for the Inquisition. After everything she sacrificed to make it what it was today. He took her hands in his and squeezed lightly, locking his eyes with hers. Cassandra flinched, surprised at first, but didn’t pull back. “Cassandra, you gave more to the Inquisition than anyone else I know. You abandoned the Seekers, went against the Chantry even though you still have faith in it, built this whole organization from _nothing_ …There is no one _more_ deserving to be here than you.”  

He gave her a genuine, warm gaze and the woman felt touched by his words. It said ‘I believe in you’ and it gave her the courage she needed. She was starting to feel a bit better. “I….thank you. I want you to know, I have no regrets.” She squeezed back his hands in earnest. “Maybe if we had found Hawke or the Hero of Ferelden, the Maker wouldn’t have needed to send you. But He did.” She smiled, letting go of his hands, and stood up. Nym followed suit. “You’re not what I had pictured. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I know less than nothing.” She gave him a weary smile, but her expression appeared exhausted under the shadows of the dim light in the forge.

Giving her a sheepish smile in return, Nym replied, “I don’t think either of us expected to be here. Trust me, this wasn’t exactly what I wanted for myself either, but here we are,” he shrugged. “To be honest, half of the time, I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m just going with the flow, doing what I think is best and trying my hardest…It’s not like I really have experience with any of this.”

Cassandra gave a soft groan, “That is not exactly making me feel reassured.”

He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head, “Yeeeah. I guess not.”

~…..~

Nymrodel knew he needed to make one more stop before he could go about with the usual business of his day. Heading back to the throne room of the castle, he found Varric leaning on a table, deep in his own thoughts.

He sighed, walking discreetly towards the dwarf. “She’s calmed down, so you can stop worrying.”

Varric gave him a skeptical stare, “Define ‘calmed down’ for me in terms of who or what she’s punching right now.”

The elf shrugged, “She isn’t punching _you_. Is that good enough of a definition?”

He groaned, “Yeah, I suppose it will have to do.” The mood around them turned somber again. “I wasn’t trying to keep secrets. I told the Inquisition everything I thought was important at the time.”

“I know, Varric. We had a discussion about this already, remember?” He gave the dwarf a soft smile. “Cassandra’s reaction was inevitable, though. But she will calm down, just…give her time.”

His friend laughed bitterly, “Knowing her, maybe she’ll forgive me in a hundred years…Maybe not,” he reconsidered after thinking about it. Shaking his head, he walked over to the elf. “I keep hoping none of this is real. Maybe it’s all some bullshit from the Fade, and it’ll just disappear.”

“But it _is_ real and it won’t simply disappear. We won’t get anywhere pretending it isn’t happening.”

The dwarf deeply sighed and nodded, as if finally accepting that fact. “I know. And I know I need to do better. I’m sorry.”

“I did keep my promise about stopping Cassandra from killing you,” Nym pointed out with a grin.

Varric chuckled, “Yes, you did.”

“Just…no more secrets, alright?”

“I promise.”

~…..~

Nym sat on the high wooden platform that Solas used when reaching the high walls for his paintings. He sat with one leg dangling over the edge, watching the elven mage paint his first fresco while talking about his exploration of the Fade. He had started his painting project not long after adapting the rotunda of one of Skyhold’s towers as his study. He used the room for research, mostly on the strange key crystals that connected to the Solasan Temple in the Forbidden Oasis. Books, papers and maps were scattered everywhere, his desk cluttered with them – an unusual sight for the usually meticulous man.

But his research laid momentarily forgotten while he painted with his fingers, delicately contouring each line with his thumb to emphasize them. He spoke of faraway lands, ancient battles or forgotten heroes that adventured the world once. As he spoke, Nym could see a small smile on his lips – one of the rare times he actually saw Solas enjoy himself when in company.

Nym also liked spending time like this; listening to Solas’s stories. He especially loved the ones about the People before the fall of Arlathan. Solas spoke of the ancient elves like he was there, with such detail and wonder, that Nym could imagine it clearly in his mind. He only wished he could see the same splendor as Solas did during his ventures in the Fade.

The mage stopped himself when he realized he was the only one talking for some time now. “Forgive me. I easily forget the time when I talk about my experiences in the Fade. There is just so much to see there. But I must be boring you,” he apologized.

Nym’s eyes widened, “Not at all! I enjoy listening to your stories. Especially the ones about our people.”

“Our people?” Solas appeared confused for a second before the realization hit him. “Ah. Yes. The elves,” he stated dryly, the smile on his lips faltering for a moment. He switched his attention on the younger elf instead, truly surprised by the other’s thirst for knowledge, especially about the Fade. Usually people would either find it uninteresting or call it unnatural and be frightened. Or in Sera’s case, call it ‘creepy demon shite’ with a disgusted scrunch of her nose. This is the first time in a very long while that he met someone so ready to listen and learn more. Or perhaps, the whitehaired elf simply liked listening to the stories of distant places. He would least expect it from a Dalish elf, no less. Nymrodel was like no Dalish he ever met. “You are…quite remarkable, young master Nym,” he smiled.

The rogue’s head titled to the side, “How so?”

Solas laughed, “The whole Inquisition can see it, yet you cannot? Well, perhaps that is not a bad thing. Every great war has its heroes…and I’m curious what kind you will be. Amelanen ena bel runen.”

Nym frowned in confusion, “I’m not familiar with that phrase.” It was a bit embarrassing to admit he, a Dalish elf, didn’t know what an elven phrase means, but it couldn’t be helped. So much of his people’s language fell forgotten through the ages. On the other hand, the elven mage never seemed to struggle with his Elvhen, as Nym did. It just poured from his lips in perfect rhythm and confidence, with a lilt that sounded comfortably natural when he spoke. Even if Nym sometimes had a feeling his grammar or wording was a bit different from what he was taught in his clan.

“It means Heroes come in many forms,” Solas explained with a smile. There was no gloating or judgement in his tone, despite having to explain elven language to a Dalish elf.

The said Dalish hummed in thought. “You speak elven really well. Better than any elf I’ve met. Even more fluently than my Clan’s Keeper.”

The mage was silent for a while as he worked on his fresco. Nym still couldn’t see what it was supposed to depict, but it was slowly coming along.

“In my explorations of the Fade, I have heard many different languages. And some spirits, like that of knowledge, are willing to teach if you have the mind to learn.”

The younger elf looked a bit wistful. “I must admit I’m a bit jealous…I wish I could speak the People’s tongue so easily. You seem so comfortable with it.”

Solas gazed at him in thought, “I could help you learn, if you’d like. Although, the Elvhen I learned in the Fade is a tad different from the tongue you speak. Older.”

As if a bolt of lightning hit him, Nym sat up straight, his ears perking up. “Really!? You would do that for me?” It appeared he didn’t hear anything after “I can teach you.”

The apostate chuckled, “Certainly. If you are willing to learn, I would be glad to teach.”

He was beaming with joy, “I’m willing! Definitely!”

The older elf couldn’t help but laugh at such enthusiasm. “I must say, I’m a bit surprised…the Dalish weren’t willing to listen to me in the past. Their pride clouded their judgement and stopped them from accepting the help or knowledge from a ‘flat-ear’ such as myself,” he scowled at the memory.

Nymrodel pressed his lips in a tight line. He knew the Dalish were a touchy subject for Solas, and one of the few topics they couldn’t agree upon. At first, it bothered him how Solas’s attitude always became curt when they talked about Nym’s heritage or Clan, but they managed to get passed that….or at least Nym hoped so. He’d say, Solas willing to teach him more of their shared Elvhen language was a good step forward, at least.

Their time was interrupted when the doors of the rotunda opened. A woman with half of her dark hair shaved on the side entered wearing a simple cotton dress. Nym recognized her as Josephine’s right hand and a trusted assistant. The two had their work cut out for them, especially with incoming Orlesian nobles who demanded to see the Inquisition’s new fortress with their own eyes.

“Inquisitor, Ambassador Montilyet asks to have a word with you. There is some business to address,” the woman spoke in a formal tone, addressing him with outmost curtesy. He was still not used to such politeness from everyone, even the nobles – when speaking to his face, at least. “She will meet you in the throne room,” the woman finished, never once cracking a smile.

Solas gave him a small nod as Nym needed to excuse himself. “We can continue our talk later, da’len.”

With a small wave of his hand, Nym left and followed the woman - whose name he still didn’t know - to the hall. As soon as he entered, he could see a crowd of people gathering around the throne and blocking his way to the Ambassador. He pushed forward until Josephine’s familiar golden dress was in view. She was standing next to the spiked throne – perhaps the ugliest piece of furniture Nym has ever seen.  

“Ah, Inquisitor Lavellan. We are just about to begin,” she started, her Antivan accent a bit thicker than usual. It always got that way when she was unsettled about something, forgetting herself for a moment.

“What’s wrong, Josephine?” He walked over to her, glancing questioningly at the gathered crowd.

Her dark eyes glinted in surprise, startled that he noticed she was bothered, but it only lasted a second before she cleared her throat and reestablished her professional demeanor. To answer his question, she turned towards the cushioned red throne on the small platform. The spikes protruded from it ominously. “Impressive, is it not? Fit for a leader. Meant to show influence – and the burden of it,” she started.

_*That explains the spikes,*_ he thought. Although he wasn’t sure if ‘impressive’ was the word he would use. Grim. Ugly. Foreboding. But still not sure about ‘impressive.’

“It is where the Inquisition will sit in judgement,” she finished.

He could already tell where she was going with this and his face instantly fell. “You mean _me_ , don’t you? Where you want _me_ to sit in judgement.”

Josephine gave him a sympathetic look, “Yes. You will judge those who have done wrong. You will know _of_ them at the very least. All this presumes they have survived their initial encounter with you, of course.”

Unlike his advisor, he was less than thrilled about this. As she mentioned, he took enough lives on the battlefield every time he was fighting out there. Now he was to take even more in the Inquisition’s name? _His_ name? “Why would you think I am qualified to decide their fates? Their _lives_?”

Josephine kept her professional, almost stern expression as she talked. She spoke with confidence, even as Nym lacked his at the moment. “You are a beacon of law, Inquisitor. As others retreat from responsibility, you cannot. But this needn’t be bloody. The Inquisition sovereignty is derived from the allies who validate it. You are both empowered and bound,” she explained.

But Nym knew it was just a fancy way of saying he had no choice but to do this, despite his feelings on the matter.  Defeated, he sighed, “So I’m guessing by the crowd of people here, there is someone for me to judge already.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“Indeed. There are two prisoners that need to be judged. One is the Chief Avvar whose son you killed in the Fallow Mire. The other…is Gereon Alexius, the Tevinter Magister, who survived the attack on Haven and came with us.”

Nym scanned the crowd and noticed Dorian leaning on the far wall in the shadows. The Tevinter must’ve already heard of the judgement of his former mentor and came to see it for himself. Lavellan didn’t really like the idea of judging Alexius in front of him. He spoke to Dorian after the whole ordeal with Alexius, and heard from the mage how much Alexius threw himself and his research into saving his son, slowly losing even his mind from it. He also heard the pain and guilt still present in Dorian’s voice as he spoke of it, and knew the young man hadn’t completely stopped caring for his former mentor. Knowing all that will only make the judgment process more grueling for Nymrodel, however.

He gazed at the expectant crowd, before turning to glance back at the ominous throne. _*No choice then,*_ he begrudgingly thought. Nodding to Josephine in concession, he slowly climbed up the two steps that separated him from the ugly chair. “Let’s begin.”

~…..~

His first judgment was almost…comical, really. At least it helped him relax, slowly getting him used to this new role of his.

 He listened to the charges placed upon Chief Movran the Under, who attacked Skyhold walls with a goat. When Josephine first reported it, he thought he heard wrong. But seeing her boggled expression mirroring his, he knew it was real. Surprisingly, the Avvar warrior wasn’t even upset about the fact the Inquisition killed his son. Then again, his son was a little shit.

After hearing his plans for attacking Tevinter, Nym got a perfect idea for the judgment. “I banish you and your Clan - with as many weapons as you can carry – to Tevinter!” Movran actually laughed at the judgement, rather pleased by it, and he wasn’t the only one. Nym could’ve sworn he heard the Iron Bull bellowing in laughter somewhere in the back of the room.

The next judgment, however, wasn’t as light-hearted. It was a rather difficult choice to make, as Nym kept his gaze on the defeated man before him – Alexius.

His head was bowed low, his eyes already dead. It was as if the former Magister, now stripped from all his credentials by his own homeland, has already given up.

“I couldn’t save my son…you think my fate maters to me? You’ve won _nothing_. The people you saved, the acclaim you gathered – you’ll lose it all in the storm to come. Render your judgement, _Inquisitor_ ,” he spat out.

Perhaps he presumed too soon. It appeared Alexius had a bit more bark left in him after all. Nym narrowed his eyes at his grim prediction, but then his gaze jumped back to Dorian. He could already hear in his mind what the young mage would say; _“He was a good man once. Destroyed by his only son’s demise. Perhaps we shouldn’t give up on him yet.”_ The elf sighed, _*I don’t know if Dorian really thinks that….but I do.*_ He turned his head back to the Magister, his gaze hardening, “You’re crime was grave…,” he started, loud enough so the whole throne-room could hear. “But you’ve succeeded in doing something nobody else could. It would be a shame to waste such a mind…when we can use it to help the Inquisition.” Disgruntled murmurs broke through the crowd, followed by confused and shocked whispers. “I sentence you to serve, under guard, as a researcher on all things magical for the Inquisition. You will be closely watched at all time, so you better keep in line. If you ever become a threat to the Inquisition again…you _will_ be executed,” he added a grim warning, his expression showing he was deadly serious.

The crowd’s whispers intensified as everyone commented on the sentence given. Some agreed, while others thought it was too lenient for Alexius’s crimes.

Even the Magister didn’t look satisfied with it. “No execution?” The man sighed, “So be it.”

_*Why you ungrateful…,*_ Nym growled in his mind, but managed to control his expression, except for an irritated twitch in his eyebrow. He was right about Gereon feeling defeated alright – the man truly wished to die, feeling he had nothing else to live for. But dying without accepting consequences for his crime? That simply felt like a cowardly way out to Nymrodel.

Casting Josephine a questioning sideways glance, he silently asked if those were all the judgments for today. The Ambassador gave a small nod in confirmation, then addressed the crowd to close the ceremony and disperse the people. With an exhausted exhale, Nym slowly rose from his seat as if the burden of the Inquisitor’s responsibility was weighing him down, then stepped down from the throne.  

“I didn’t want to miss Alexius’s judgement…I needed to see it with my own eyes,” a familiar, slightly high voice brought his attention, and Nym saw Dorian waiting for him. “Researching magic, huh? Research is always what made him happiest…perhaps I’ll even go talk to him…eventually,” the man muttered in thought.

“And you will have that chance thanks to Master Lavellan,” Josephine joined them with a pleased smile.

“Yes. Just one word of advice: If he suggests altering time to solve all your problems, give it a pass,” Dorian commented.

“Don’t worry, I know nothing in this life comes that easily…not without a steep price,” the elf scoffed.

“There are a few more news for you, Inquisitor,” Josephine continued. She was still in her professional mode where she absolutely insisted on addressing Lavellan formally, usually by his newest title. He knew she’ll be back to her friendly self once they talk in private again; as friends and not leader and subordinate. “The Arcanist has arrived and has settled in the Undercroft. Also, the trainer you requested from the ones who offered their services arrived,” a worried shadow passed over Josephine’s features momentarily. It must be because of his choice of trainer, Nym guessed.

“Trainer?” Dorian asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes. The one who follows Vir Banal'ras – The Way of Shadow,” Nymrodel explained, then realized an elven explanation probably did little good to the Tevinter mage. “An Assassin,” he simply stated, rather calmly despite the chosen profession.

“And are you sure _that_ is the specialization you want, Inquisitor? I mean, I will not try and dissuade you, but…,” Josephine, on the other hand, had some qualms about it.

The Dalish smiled softly. Ironically, his last mentor was also an assassin…well, former assassin, to be precise. Yet, Ronas didn’t teach him _everything_. He taught him to use the movements of an assassin and fight in a way that was even rare for common rogues, but he never taught him the doctrine of the assassin way. He was sure if Ronas knew Nym was planning to follow in the way of an assassin, the human would be against it. His mentor never wanted for Nym to follow in his footsteps – to become what Ronas once was. But after encountering Corypheus, Nym knew he needed to become stronger – and this was a way to do it. A way where he already had the foundations laid out for him.

“Don’t worry, Lady Montilyet. I know a diplomat in you is against such clandestine affairs, but this only means I’m learning a new way to fight. I won’t become as jaded as our spymaster…hopefully,” he smirked.

Josephine sighed, a small frown crinkling her pretty features. “I should hope not. Leliana is a dear friend, but sometimes I feel like I have to keep her from ending every problem we have with a dagger from the shadows. And with Commander Cullen, who is a hammer that views everything as a nail, I-,” she stopped herself when she realized she was starting to complain. “Forgive me, Inquisitor. I got carried away.”

Dorian snickered, “Seems like you’re having a hard time, Lady Ambassador,” he teased.

“Don’t listen to him Josephine, you’re doing great,” Nym smiled.

The woman nodded, giving them a small bow. “Well, I shall leave you to it.” With a hurried step, she walked away to deal with some new problems. As there were _always_ some problems to deal with.

Nym and Dorian continued their discussion as they strolled down the hall. The elf was trying to duck away from the judgmental gazes he was receiving from the bystanders. Everyone were still whispering about the interesting display of him sitting in judgement that they just witnessed. * _Great, one more thing for them to gossip about,*_ he thought bitterly. Talking to a Tevinter mage right after pardoning one probably didn’t help with the rumors, either.

“I personally think the Assassin thing suits you. With the amount of killing you do, a bit of flair is a fine thing,” Dorian commented while they walked.

The rogue furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t kill _that_ many people…”

“Are you joking? I’m only surprised you didn’t kill someone walking over to your throne,” the mage countered, making Nym laugh. “At any rate, if you decide to make it into an actual profession, do tell me. The Antivan Crows have nothing on the Imperium. I know people. Keep it in mind.”

The elf raised an eyebrow. He wondered if he ever heard of Ronas Cale then. Some of Cale’s stories involved his work in Tevinter, after all. He shook his head, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, I haven’t even started my _training_ yet. And…I don’t know how I feel about working as an actual assassin. For now, I’m satisfied with just gaining the skills and learning their techniques to fight better.”

Dorian shrugged. They walked in silence for a while, heading up to the Skyhold’s rookery. The mage finally broke it, “I got a letter about Felix. I told you before how he stood in front of the Magisterium and talked of you and the Inquisition…all good things, of course.” Nym nodded. “Well, this time I got a letter informing me…of his death. The Blight caught up with him.” His voice turned into a somber whisper.

Nym gave him a sympathetic look, before a thought crossed his mind, “Does Alexius know?”

The mage nodded. “They must’ve informed him before the trial. No wonder he was so keen on dying.”

“I’m sorry, Dorian. I know Felix was important to you. You were friends a long time, no?”

The Tevinter chuckled sadly, “He used to sneak me treats from the kitchens when I was working late in his father’s study. “Don’t get into trouble on my behalf,” I’d tell him. “I like trouble,” he’d say. Tevinter could use more mages like him; those who put the good of others above themselves,” he gave a small smile. Nym could see the painful sadness in his eyes.

“I would say you are one of those mages as well,” the elf corrected.

The other scoffed, “I don’t know about _that_.”

“That’s alright. I do,” he gave him a toothy grin.

As they walked, they found themselves in the Skyhold’s library. The whole floor was filled with bookshelves while the people diligently and quietly worked there. He could see Clemence reading a book on instability of magic at a table – he was a tranquil they found and recruited at the Gull and the Lantern in Redcliffe Village, shortly after meeting with Alexius. The man approached them on his own volition, asking to join the Inquisition. Nym was still shaken after finding out the truth behind the Ocularum so he was more than happy to welcome the tranquil in their ranks, hoping to save Clemence from the same fate many others faced by the hands of the Venatori. He hoped the former mage was happy within the Inquisition, although he wasn’t sure if Tranquil could even feel happiness.  

Dorian’s grumbling brought him back to reality. “I like spending time here in the library, but I wish there were more useful books. More than half of them are just pure Chantry propaganda! I was hoping to find something about Corypheus and his past…who he used to be before he became a crazed demigod, but no luck so far. Honestly, is there anything about the pre-Chantry period, even? Probably not,” the man grimaced in disgust.

Nym stared at him, before his lips quirked in a sly smirk.

Dorian watched him suspiciously. “What?”

~…..~

Since coming to Skyhold, Nym was so busy with the fortress’s repairs and rebuilding the Inquisition that he had no time to venture into the outdoors. He hadn’t left the Frostback Mountains since they arrived at the castle. So he spent all of his free time exploring Skyhold, instead. It was filled with secret rooms and narrow passages that connected the whole castle like a network of tunnels. He would often go exploring in one wing of the fortress, only to end up on the other side of Skyhold grounds.

He led Dorian beneath the main floor of the castle. Usually only the servants used those hallways to get around without being noticed, keeping their work around the castle as subtle and undisruptive as possible.

“Would you just tell me where you’re taking me? This is starting to look very suspicious,” the mage complained.

“What, you think I’m going to murder and burry you here beneath Skyhold, or something?” Nym joked.

Dorian gave him a blank stare. “No, but now I see where _your_ mind’s at.”

The elf smirked, “Just come.” He opened the doors of a small room, presenting the crowded space inside. It was another library, perhaps too small to be even called that. It was covered in dust, hidden from the world possibly for centuries. There were rows of books covering every wall, with some of them cluttering the floor. A large book, too heavy to carry, stood open on the table placed in the middle of the room. “You said you needed better books. These are all on arcane knowledge or history. And considering how old Skyhold is, there might very well be a lot of them that predate the Chantry.”

Dorian gave an impressed whistle. It was not often that the man showed he was fascinated by _anything_. “These are extraordinary. And so well-preserved. Astonishing…” He scrunched his nose, “A bit cramped, though. And it smells of dust.”

The elf stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Of course he found _some_ flaws to complain about, it was Dorian after all.

“Knock yourself out.” He watched the man approach the closest shelf and glide his delicate fingers over the leather bindings, unconcerned by the dust on them, silently mouthing each title he read. There was appreciation in his gestures, all belligerence stifled as he read through the mystic titles that were evidently of great interest to him. “Oh, also,” he started, remembering another thing. “The cellar with all the exotic alcoholic beverages we collected on our travels is just next door.”

He didn’t think Dorian could make a cheerful face, considering the most pleased expression the mage ever made was an amused smirk, but he was proven wrong. Nymrodel laughed, “Yeah, I figured you might like that.” He knew the mage had a particular love for foreign wine…or anything alcoholic on the rare occasions he wasn’t picky.

“What do you say we open one of them right now,” Dorian gave him that sly smile and Nym grinned in approval.

The two went to the small cellar and pulled out an aged bottle of Antivan brandy, then headed back to the secret library to share the bottle. They found two chairs and sat down, with Dorian opening the bottle.

“We don’t even have glasses,” the Inquisitor laughed.

“We’ll manage,” the mage smirked, then raised the bottle in the air, “For Felix! Even in illness, he was the best of us. With him around, you knew everything would be all right!” He took a long swig of the brandy right out of the bottle, before handing it to the elf.

“For Felix,” Nym repeated with a small smile, then took a drink of the brandy as well. He felt the strong beverage burn down his throat, leaving a warm feeling deep in his stomach. The burn made him cough, but he didn’t mind. _*Not bad, this stuff.*_

Dorian took the bottle from him, taking another swig. He eyed the Inquisitor with a clever smile, “Thankfully Felix wasn’t the only decent sort kicking around Thedas.”

In response to that admission, Nym raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. “Did you just… _compliment_ me? I didn’t know you were capable!” The light in his eyes danced mischievously as he teased the mage.

“Ha-ha. Just don’t let it go to your head,” Dorian rolled his eyes at him. 

~…..~

Two meetings – one with the Arcanist named Dagna and the other with the assassin named Heir, were as opposite as heaven and earth. The only thing that they had in common was the complete mastery of their trade.

Dagna was a cheerful, young dwarven woman who was able to make Masterwork items and enchantments like none other in the Inquisition could. She was friendly and open, sometimes even a bit too informal, although Nym hardly minded. He liked her immediately, though he worried a bit how she would get along with the ever-scowling blacksmith Harritt. Luckily, the Undercroft was large enough for both of them, and with a little bit of compromise, there was great potential to explore. Nym was looking forward to experiencing Dagna’s skills firsthand on his new armor and weapons.

On the other hand, the Dalish assassin who arrived as his trainer was succinct and curt, although just as blunt as Dagna. Heir stood before Lavellan without the usual look of reverence or fear, and demanded to know why she should train him. She was not what he expected at all, but Nymrodel found he quite liked her, as quaint as she was. Although he still couldn’t understand why she spoke only in third person when referring to others, including herself. It was as if she refused using names.

“Let me first say; He does not wish to be an assassin any more than he would wish to be a sword or a cudgel. Such are the weapons of others. They lack intent. He must become his own assassin. There is a difference. Let me next say: Death has nothing to do with it. Death is the payment, the by-product. Our way is between life and death. It is a door through which he will send others,” Heir explained sternly.

Nymrodel listened carefully, trying to understand the meaning of her words. _*Is she saying that even as an assassin I choose my own path? I am neither in light nor shadow. I’m the one who decides to assassinate someone, instead of being used like a tool to work for othrs,*_ he mulled over it, deciding he approved of that way of thinking. It was unusual for an assassin, completely in contrast of how the Crow’s operated, yet it felt more fitting for someone like him. He wanted to use these skills for himself and what _he_ believed in, not simply be directed by someone else. Usually, assassins were considered nothing but a tool to kill, paid by others. But Heir’s way was different – she wasn’t a dagger wielded by others. She was the one who decided, _chose_ , whether to kill or not and who.

“So the question is if he can stomach Assassin as his path. First, if he is willing, there are steps to take. She will attack and see how he moves…It is important to see what he knows.”

He gave her a confident look, all humor gone from his eyes. “I am ready. I want to learn.”

“So be it. He should prepare himself,” it was the only warning the woman gave before she lunged forward, dagger in hand. She thrust the weapon at his face and Nym barely had time to dodge.

His eyes widened as he felt the sharp blade pass by his cheek. _*She’s fast!*_ She could’ve easily been on par with his mentor, as she was one of the fastest opponents he ever faced.

Even though she missed, her attack flowed into the next one as she changed direction with her dagger and slashed at him. He ducked low to avoid the knife and went to tackle her, only to get a knee in the face. He quickly jumped in a side-roll and stood up to draw his dagger just in time to block another deadly slash. The two daggers clashed, the metal sound ringing across the courtyard.

People around them gasped and commented in shock as they saw the two spar, both Dalish moving in lightning speed. Heir’s movements were quick, precise and flowed from one into another perfectly. She could easily switch between offense and defense without missing a beat.

As soon as Nym blocked her dagger, he pulled out three throwing knives and sent them flying at her, jumping backwards in the process. He realized she was testing him and was purposely pushing him to give it his all.  

She quickly drew out her other dagger and deflected two of the knives, but didn’t have time for the third one.

Nym’s eyes widened as he saw the third blade fly straight towards her face. Did he miscalculate her agility?

Apparently not. Gasping, he saw the woman bit down on the sharp edge of the knife, stopping it with her teeth. There was a small cut on her lips when she spat the knife out and she licked the blood off them. He was in complete shock, unable to move a muscle after what he witnessed. A nervous smile twitched on his lips, cold sweat dripping down his temple. “Y-you’re kidding me.”

The woman relaxed, sheathing back her daggers as if nothing happened. She wasn’t even out of breath. “Good. He is not without knowledge.” Apparently the test was over, but Lavellan could barely react, still stunned by her skill. Heir kept that calm gaze on him, expressionless and stoic. Unlike him, she didn’t even break into a sweat. “Some of his moves have the qualities of an assassin. But even if he has trained in the arts before, he must become his _own_ assassin.”

Nym blinked, his body finally unfreezing. Slowly, he put away his weapons. “I was trained _by_ an assassin, but only to learn how to properly fight with the daggers. I never trained to _be_ an assassin.” He still remembered Ronas’s words when he started to train him; _“Killing isn’t just an act, it’s an art. Every move is like a step in a dance and you must learn to perform it perfectly.”_

Heir gave him a small nod. “She understands. His mentor taught him how to use himself as a weapon. Now she shall teach him to use himself as an assassin.”

 Nymrodel wasn’t quite sure he understood the difference yet, but he had a feeling he would by the end of their training together. Wiping the blood dripping from his swelling nose, he walked over to rejoin Heir as she began her teachings.

~…..~

He stumbled into his quarters, exhausted and beaten. There wasn’t one part of his body, one muscle or bone that didn’t ache. What wasn’t injured or bruised or cut, was simply sore from exertion. He flopped onto his bed, letting out a relieved sigh.

_*I didn’t have such rigorous training since Ronas left the Clan,*_ he thought in a daze, staring at the ceiling. He was sweaty and dirty from crusted dirt, mud and blood. Heir didn’t hold back, that was for sure. Her painful methods of teaching were only equaled by her stern outlook on the assassin’s way. And she was determined to drill every lesson into Nym…or beat it into him, more like.

The furs on his giant bed hugged him warmly, threatening to send him into a dead sleep before he had time to gather his strength and take a proper bath. Luckily, his washroom was an adjoined room of his quarters, saving him the trip to the public Skyhold baths.

When Josephine told him he could decorate Skyhold including his room, Nymrodel wasn’t really interested. He felt he had more pressing matters to attend to than choosing the color for the drapes. Yet both his ambassador and Vivienne had no intention of letting him skip on this, no matter what excuses he gave them. And boy, did he try every excuse he could think of. In the end, he did decide, only to often notice Josephine’s curios or Vivienne’s skeptical expression. ‘ _Great, now he’ll have to work on his redecorating skills too,’_ he had taught at the time. It wouldn’t be surprising such a course existed at least in Orlais and was truly afraid they would coerce him into taking it.

There was one item, however, that Nymrodel did like. When he chose the bed they brought back from the Frostback Basin for his chambers, Josephine was baffled. But the large bed covered in animal furs was the closest thing to the fur bedroll he used back in the Clan when the nights got chilly. No silken bedsheets could compare to the comforting and cozy feeling of soft fur on his bare skin. And fur retained heat, so even during the coldest wintery nights high in the mountains, the bed felt like a piece of warm haven.

Then he remembered they were traveling to Crestwood with Hawke at first light on the morrow, and was brought back to reality. He had to rest his sore body as much as he could if he was to survive their expedition tomorrow. Groaning loudly, Nym pushed himself off the bed with the last of his strength, dragging himself into the washroom. _*Maybe soaking in hot water will help,*_ he thought in hope, letting another long sigh escape him.

~…..~

 Lemren ran with the speed of a halla - a gift, he believed, Andruil bestowed upon him. He took deep, even breaths as he rushed through the forest, jumping over roots and ducking under low branches. Even without looking back at his pursuers, he knew he was being chased. He could hear the heavy stomps of armor, along with the quick rhythm of charging horses. Worried, but not afraid, he carried on deeper into the woods. It was all going according to plan.

The footsoldiers fell behind, their equipment too heavy for a proper chase, but the horsemen pressed on, although slowed down as the forest grew thicker. They had to duck under tree branches or carefully jump over the shrubbery, while the obstacles didn’t present a hindrance to the swift elf in front of them.

Even so, they never quite lost sight of the Dalish. Too late did they realize that was intentional.

Lemren ran just fast enough to be out of reach, yet always stayed in their line of sight. He was leading them right into a trap.

He disappeared around a tree, suddenly blending with the forest until his pursuers lost sight of him.

“Dammit!” One of the humans shouted in anger. “Where did he go!?” The trees around them rustled, leaves gently falling to the ground. Humans paid no mind to it, thinking it was simply the wind. An experienced hunter would have told them the rustling was unnatural and didn’t even coincide with the breeze. Alas, they didn’t have an experienced hunter with them.

Figures hidden in the treetops nocked their arrows, then released them at the human soldiers, aiming for the openings in their armors.

The first arrow hit a man through the neck and the soldier toppled over his horse with a choking gurgle. Another came flying and pierced the thin part of the armor, right above the collarbone. Another soldier came falling from his horse.

“An ambush!” Their leader yelled out in alarm, but it was already too late. In a matter of moments, arrows were raining down on them.

By the time the footsoldiers arrived, there were nothing but dead bodies of their comrades left.

With a raging cry, the Dalish jumped from their hiding spots and attacked the unsuspecting humans. Gelen led the charge, knocking a man’s sword to the side with his own, then slashing his torso with his short sword in the other hand. Behind him, the elves jumped into the fray without a second of hesitation, determined to protect their Clan.

Beside him, Rion swung his two-handed broadsword, cutting a soldier in half with one powerful swing. Despite the heavy weapon, he moved with a quick step, easily avoiding an incoming dagger and twirling his sword to cut his opponent’s arm off. With his large weapon, it didn’t matter how well his enemy was armored.

 He saw the enemy archers preparing to shoot and placed his sword in front of him, using the broad side as a shield. The arrows harmlessly deflected from the steel, falling to the ground.

Behind him, Neranni, a redheaded huntress who was as deadly as she was beautiful, moved her bow in a horizontal position and shot three arrows at once. Each arrowhead was laced with deadly, fast-acting poison, so even a nick was enough to cause death. All three arrows found their marks, taking down three human archers. Her loud laugh rang through the woods as she saw them fall.

“What are you laughing at, you sadist,” Lemren gave her a strange look before he parried a sword attack with one dagger, then pierced with the other. His weapon slid beneath the soldier’s helmet, piercing deep into his throat. The man choked, warm blood pouring from his mouth and the wound gaping on his neck.

 The Clan’s First, Varalhen, finally finished chanting as he completed his spell. The armor and weapons of the remaining soldiers gradually started to heat up until they reached boiling temperature.

The humans screamed in panic and pain, quickly letting go of their scorching weapons. Unfortunately, the metal on their armors couldn’t be taken off as quickly. It burned and stung, the bubbling metal sticking to their skin until it all melted and fused together. The men screamed, clawing at the armor they were wearing, trying to tear it off themselves. But it was sizzling to the touch, only burning their hands. The stench of roasted meat filled the air as they cooked in their armors. In their frenzy, they were easy prey for the Dalish warriors who mercilessly cut them down.

 When all the enemies were defeated, the elves returned to their camp where the rest of Clan Lavellan was waiting. Gelen walked over with a dark frown on his face to a meeting already in place between the hahren of the Clan and Keeper Istimaethoriel.

“This is the second attack this week! It cannot be a coincidence,” one of the Elders exclaimed.

Gelen tossed a bloodied piece of armor in front of them. “These weapons, this armor…they are too well-made to belong to simple bandits!” He turned to the Keeper, “Every time they come, they come in larger numbers, and every time we have more injured on our side!”

Keeper Deshanna watched the battered armor carefully, grinding her teeth in thought. “I know…This cannot continue.”

“There is something afoot here. Something dark,” Sowen grumbled in a grim tone.

Varalhen joined the meeting. “We have to decide…either we leave this place or we ask for help.”

“But this place has a lot of game and fresh water. Not to mention, no fade rifts. We barely found such a safe place,” Old Maven countered.

“It’s _not_ safe anymore,” Gelen argued with a scowl.” Next time they might break through our defenses and attack the Clan directly. If we lose our aravels – our only means of transportation-,” he was cut off when the Keeper raised her hand to stop him. The party grew silent, all of them awaiting her decision.

 Deshanna closed her eyes, then opened them as she reached it. “I also believe there is something more going on than just simple bandit attacks. We must find out why we are being targeted. Do not forget, we are not alone – Clan Lavellan has a friend that might help in this matter. It has a friend in the Inquisition.”

The Elders glanced at each other, all wearing dubious looks. They trusted Nymrodel, but they didn’t know much about the shemlen Inquisition; other than the rumors and what Nym told them in his letters. 

“Is it not better to just walk away and escape the bandits,” another hahren asked.

“If they are after Clan Lavellan specifically, it would mean turning our backs to the enemy. They would catch us unprepared and on the run – it is too dangerous,” the Keeper explained.

“Even if the Inquisition helps, how long will it take for them to get here? We might not have that much time,” the warleader warned with a frown.

Deshanna pressed her lips in a tight line. It was a little tell in her expression that meant her mind was made up. “We will have to hold on until then. Gelen, make arrangements to strengthen our defenses. Lemren will send out more scouts. All our eyes and ears need to be out there, so we know exactly who is coming, from where and when. I will write to Nymrodel immediately.” She stood up from the circle the Council of Clan Lavellan formed. The hahren often advised the Keeper, but the final decision was always hers.

“Understood,” Gelen responded without another word of argument and hurried away to follow her orders.

Deshanna gazed at the setting sun over the horizon. The sky was painted in darkening orange, mixed with bright red, reminding her of all the blood that was spilt today. “Evanuris em'an halani,” she muttered.

* * *

 

Glossary:

_Amelanen ena bel runen_ \- Heroes come in many forms (Although literally it means ‘Protectors come in many forms,’ because I couldn't find the elven word for Hero (go figure).  

_Hahren -_ elder

_Evanuris em'an halani_ – Creators help us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked the chapter, thank you for reading! Finally, we’re introducing Hawke, and a little bit more about what’s going on with Clan Lavellan…some bad, dangerous things. :/ (But I always love every opportunity I get to write more about them. heh)


	16. Crestwood Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where they go to Crestwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter. I hope you enjoy!

Nymrodel rode down the path on Shara, followed by his companions, his trusted Red Hart carefully carrying him on the bumpy road. He lit up with happiness when he learned Sharahnain was alive and well after the attack on Haven, and now lived at Skyhold stables that were even bigger than the ones in Haven. 

Rain washed over them mercilessly, soaking through their clothes and armor until they were drenched to the bone. It didn’t stop falling ever since they rode close to Crestwood. Even with Nym’s hood up, his face and hair didn’t get spared from the cold shower. His hair stuck to his wet forehead and temples annoyingly, covering his vallaslin.

Red tents of the Inquisition rose before him and he rode into the camp, followed by Bull, Dorian, Blackwall, Cole, Varric and Hawke. The dirt, mostly mud by now, splattered as his boots fell in, the moment he dismounted. With every step, he could hear the squishing sounds of mud beneath his feet.

Scout Harding came to greet them, looking just as drenched as the rest of them. “Good to see you…it’s Inquisitor now, right? I hear congratulations are in order.” She gave him a smirk.

“Not really,” he shrugged. “It’s the same old me.”

 “I very well hope so, because we’ll be needing some of those problem-solving, ass-kicking skills you have,” the scout retorted.

“Hey, some of those ass-kicking moments are thanks to us too, y’know,” Varric complained.

Harding laughed at their disappointed faces. “You’re right. What would we do without our Inquisition dream team? That Corypheus bastard doesn’t stand a chance.”

“You said it, sister,” the Qunari grinned.

“So what is it this time? Red templars, Venatori agents, dragons?”

“Uuu, let it be dragons,” Bull murmured excitedly.

“I’d sign up for dragons too,” Hawke pointed out with his finger in the air.

“You won’t like it,” Harding started, casting Nym a look – a look that gave him a reeeally bad feeling. “It’s the undead again,” she finally broke the suspense.

“Oh come on!” The elf tossed his arms in the air.

Hawke raised one dark eyebrow questioningly.

“Nym’s scared of the undead,” Varric explained to him, and the apostate made a small o with his mouth in understanding.

“I am _not_ scared,” the elf argued, vexed. His ears stood up high as he glowered.

“That’s right! He’s only squeamish,” Dorian corrected, giving him an ‘I got your back’ nod.

Nym pinched the bridge of his nose in dismay. “You’re not helping…”

“Soulless eyes. Inhuman sounds. A face of someone familiar, yet _not_ them.” Cole rambled, reacting to the thoughts coming from Nymrodel’s mind.

“Well that’s…something,” Hawke mumbled, giving the young blonde an odd look.

“Yeah….Cole’s a bit…special,” his dwarven friend awkwardly explained.

“Don’t mind him. He’s odd, but useful,” Dorian waved it off.

Their Grey Warden warrior cleared his throat to break the conversation. “Perhaps we should move on? Ser Hawke’s contact is waiting for us,” Blackwall reminded.

“There’s another thing,” Harding continued. She gestured for them to follow her and led them to the edge of the cliff, just outside the Inquisition camp. They had a clear view of Crestwood Lake, and right in the middle of it – a large fade rift. It shifted and shone its bright green light on the murky water that reflected it. “Crestwood was a sight of a flood during the Blight. And after this rift appeared, corpses started walking out of the lake. You’ll have to fight through them to get to the cave where Ser Hawke’s Grey Warden friend is hiding.”

“It sounds different. The water changes the song,” Cole said cryptically.

“I’ll tell you right now; I’m not very good at swimming,” Varric warned.

Harding smiled in amusement before continuing, “Maybe someone at the Crestwood Village can tell you how to get to the rift on the lake. Maker knows they’ll want help,” she mumbled. She gazed over the group, “Good luck. And please, be safe.”

“If we wanted to be safe, we’d stay in Skyhold,” Bull pointed out.

“Well said,” Blackwall chuckled.

“Alright, then. I suggest we visit Crestwood first.” Nym took a deep breath, preparing himself for another endless horde of the undead, much like at the Fallow Mire.

They left their mounts in the camp, and started on a steep path that led towards the Crestwood village. The rain still wasn’t stopping. If anything, it seemed to be falling harder now.

“So…you’re a Qunari,” Hawke started carefully, eyeing the Iron Bull’s big frame.

“Figured that out all by yourself?” The Ben-Hassrath sarcastically retorted, smirking at him.

“I just wanted to make sure there aren’t any hard feelings…you know, since I killed your last Arishok and all.”

“Kirkwall was a mess, even the Qun acknowledged as much. What’s done is done. Let’s leave it at that,” the Qunari dismissed it.

“I still don’t know how you managed to defeat the Arishok in close combat, when you’re a mage,” Blackwall commented.

The apostate coughed awkwardly, “It wasn’t easy, I’ll tell you tell,”

“There was a lot of running…then some screaming, then impaling, then Hawke summoned a spell that almost tore Arishok in half,” Varric explained vaguely, for one not needing to embellish the story.

“If anyone needs to worry about this Qunari stabbing them in the back, it should be _me_ ,” Dorian called out sourly. “We’re practically natural enemies.”

“Aww, are you still worried I’m going to bound and leash you,” Bull asked with mocking.

“Should I be?”

 “Well I might really stich your mouth shut if you don’t stop bitching at me,” the giant grumbled.

Nymrodel snickered and Dorian gave them both the stink eye.  

“I can understand his worry. I mean, the way those Qunari mages are treated, it really looks…disturbing. At least to an outsider,” Hawke admitted. He remembered his own heart-wrenching experience with a Qunari Saarebas, who chose suicide rather than to defy the Qun.

“Is Mages burning down Ferelden and Orlais better then? If the South had better control of Mages, the mage-templar war never would have happened,” the Qunari argued.

“You can’t know that,” Hawke argued.

Nym watched them bicker back and forth, but there was only one thought that kept returning to him mind. He looked up at the Iron Bull, his expression unreadable. “But Dalish is a mage too,” he finally blurted out. “No matter what excuse she might give,” he shrugged with a smirk, remembering how adamantly she always denies it. “You don’t think she should be bound and collared, her mouth stitched like the saarebas….right?” He didn’t want to believe that Bull really wanted to see his friend like that.  

 Bull frowned at the idea. It’s not like he enjoyed seeing their mages bound like that, but it was preferable to the alternative…demon possession or rebellion and destruction, which was the case for most of Thedas at the moment. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked. Still, seeing his friend, one of his Chargers treated that way…there’s no way he would have wanted that life for her, and yet under the Qun it would have been inevitable. The clashing notions brought up mixed feelings and confusion, and he hoped it was a dilemma that would never have to be decided in reality.

However, before Bull could give him an answer, Nym spoke again after seeing the other was torn by the question, “Never mind. Forget I asked.” He cut off the topic, along with Bull’s swirling thoughts.

The Qunari blinked with his one good eye, watching the silent elf curiously. Lavellan was neither a pushover nor one to usually back down from any challenge, let alone a simple debate, so he found it weird that he suddenly let go of the subject so easily…especially since he had a perfectly sound question. Others would surely feel like that argument brought them an advantage in the conversation and push it even more, not pull back.

The Iron Bull’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment. He was confused by Nym’s sudden change of heart, and it was rare for Bull to be confused about anything. He could usually read people quite well, especially with his Ben-Hassrath training. He wanted to inquire about it, to get into Nym’s head, but the elf was already discussing something else with Varric, making it impossible to ask now.

They didn’t even reach the populated area before stumbling on a pair of Grey Wardens, protecting an elven woman from the undead.

Dorian and Hawke took out their staffs, summoning their fire magic to burn the corpses. Varric shot through what was left of the undead with a barrage of crossbow bolts.

“Thank you, Bianca,” the dwarf patted his weapon, before strapping it onto his back again.

Hawke shook his head at him, giving him that ‘ _Sometimes I just don’t get you’_ look.

The two Grey Wardens hurried the woman back to the Village, before joining Nym’s group. “You must be the Inquisitor. The Grey Wardens thank you for your aid.”

The elf had to hide a grimace. Has he become so recognizable that even these soldiers realized instantly that he was the Inquisitor? _*How did the word about my appointment as the Inquisitor spread so fast? It’s only been about four weeks,*_ he wondered. He guessed Josephine most likely had something to do with that. She probably sent word to every corner of Thedas about the Herald of Andraste becoming the Inquisitor.

Blackwall stepped forward to meet his fellow Grey Wardens, “What are you doing in Crestwood?”

 The man frowned behind him helmet. “A Warden named Stroud is wanted for questioning. Warden-Commander Clarel ordered his capture. ”

Nym noticed Hawke shifting his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly. Luckily, his own nervous expression was masked by the rain.

The Warden continued, “We heard he’d passed through here, but the villagers knew nothing. They have troubles enough. I hope ser Stroud comes with us peacefully. I trained under him for a time. He’s a good man, I’m sure of that,” he sighed.

“Can’t you stay to fight the undead here,” Nym asked. He felt like that was the more pressing issue here.

“That’s what I’d like to know too,” the Warden’s comrade muttered under his breath.

His superior gave him a warning glance. “We _can’t._ Our orders forbid it. Crestwood was only a detour. If the Inquisition can help, I beg you to do what you can. The villagers have already lost too many.”

Blackwall turned to Lavellan, “We should help the villagers. It is regrettable the Wardens here can’t do more for the people…I would think that should be their priority.”

“At least we know the Wardens haven’t found your friend yet,” Nym whispered to Hawke.

“He’s a resourceful one so don’t worry,” the apostate smirked.

~…..~

After the group parted ways with the Wardens, they headed up towards the Crestwood village. The climb was steep and slippery from the rain, the earth sliding under their feet. Makeshift wooden barracks guarded the village entrance with a few armed villagers fighting off the rising undead. Nym’s group took them out without a problem, heading into the village.

The villagers were all cowering inside their homes, most of them barricading the doors and windows just in case the dead break through and invade. Most of them remembered the stories of what happened in Redcliffe during the Blight and worried that the same fate could befall them.

When they finally located the mayor, he was powerless to do anything about the undead, but at least he gave them some information.

“Darkspawn flooded the old Crestwood Village ten years ago, during the Blight, killing all the refugees we took in,” he explained.

“That explains all the corpses that keep popping out from there,” Dorian commented.

A plan started concocting in Nym’s mind. “We saw a dam on our way here. If we could drain the lake, perhaps we could reach the caverns below? I could close that large rift.”

However, the mayor hardly seemed happy about the idea. “Drain the-,” he started, bewildered. “Surely, there must be some other way!”

Bull deadpanned, “There’s not. There’s really not.”

Finally, the mayor made a defeated noise. “You’d have to evict the bandits in the old fort to use the dam. I can’t ask you to risk your life.”

 _*Better bandits than the corpses,*_ the elf thought. “Trust me, we’ve faced worse.” He saw his group smirk proudly, agreeing with him.

“Then-,” the man sighed, “Then I have no choice.” He walked over to his desk and pulled out a large key from the drawer. It looked old and rusted, as if it hadn’t been used in ages. He handed it over to Nym. “This key unlocks the gates to the dam controls past the fort. The rift must be in the caves under Old Crestwood.”

Nym took the key and buried it deep in his coat pocket.

“But Inquisitor-,” the man brought back his attention. “I would not linger there,” he warned.

As they left Crestwood village, the large group started their climb up to the hill where the old fort stood.

“That mayor was really anxious about something,” Bull noted in a dubious tone.

Nym raised one eyebrow in question. “You think he’s hiding something?”

“Don’t know. But he was really worried about us going to the dam.”

“Is that your opinion as a Ben-Hassrath agent,” Varric asked.

“I’m good at reading people like that,” Bull growled in annoyance, seeing Varric was doubting him.

“Maybe he was just worried about us getting killed by the undead, or demons, or bandits…or anything else that might be lurking down there,” Blackwall shrugged, dismissing Bull’s suspicions.

“Maybe,” the Qunari mumbled darkly, still not quite convinced.

Meanwhile, Nymrodel turned to Hawke. “I’m sorry you’re stuck with us dealing with the rift crisis. I know you’d rather go meet your Warden friend. Just be a bit more patient.”

“Hey, I’m happy to help the people,” the raven-haired apostate smiled, rather calm about the situation.

Varric laughed. “He might be the most patient man I know, so don’t worry. I mean, he pined for the same person for six years and never gave up. Now that I think about it, he might also be the most persistent person I know,” the dwarf pointed out.

 “Six years,” Nym repeated in disbelief. “Wow, that must be…true love,” he muttered in thought.

“You just _had to_ bring that up, didn’t you,” Hawke grumbled, glowering at Varric. The dwarf just shrugged with a sly smile. Oh, he was definitely messing with him on purpose! Hawke made a low groan and hid his face in his hand, feeling emotionally drained.

“Wait, if you were pining over them for _six years_ , does that mean you didn’t have sex with anyone else that entre time?” Bull practically shouted the question in shock. Now that was something _he_ couldn’t believe.

“ _That’s_ what’s important to you?” Dorian exclaimed in bewilderment, staring at the Qunari in slight annoyance.

“Not true! I slept with him once during that time,” Hawke defended himself, answering rather boastfully. “And we made up for lost time once we got together,” he muttered under his breath, a blissful smile on his features.

“You’re really not helping your case here, buddy. Even I feel sorry for you now,” his dwarven friend bleakly commented.

“You’re shitting me?! You had sex only once in six years before you got together with him? That’s the direst case of blue-balls I’ve ever heard about,” Bull roared in laughter.

“What are…blue-balls?” Cole tilted his head to the side in question.

Varric and Nym almost choked at that. “Don’t worry about it, kid!” Varric quickly tried to dismiss the subject.

“That’s right. It’s not something you need to concern yourself with, Cole,” Nym joined in with a nervous smile.

“I can’t tell if that’s really romantic, or just plain pathetic,” Dorian stated dryly at the subject.

“It was worth the wait,” Hawke growled, scowling at them all, although it was mixed with a sulking expression. He could see everyone was intent on teasing him now. Well, Varric, Dorian and Iron Bull at least.

“I think it’s romantic,” Nym intervened, giving a thoughtful shrug.

Dorian snickered, “Yes, you look like the sort who would think that.”

He gave him a pointed stare. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t get all prickly with me,” the mage raised his hands defensively. “I just meant, you look like a one-lover sort of fellow. You know, the _relationship_ type.”

“And…that’s a bad thing?”

“I’m just saying, it’s not bad to try out new things. Maybe, expand your horizons…,” the Tevinter rambled nonchalantly. “It doesn’t always have to be about love.” He gave him a knowing look before turning his head away.

Nym felt the mage was going somewhere with this, but he couldn’t decipher the meaning. He frowned in confusion, but Dorian only shrugged innocently, not explaining it further.

~……~

The Highwaymen in Caer Bronach fought viciously in the name of defending their territory, but the Inquisition group cut through them just as mercilessly.

Mabari dogs, bandit men and women, even an apostate mage stood in their way, but were slowly pushed back deeper into the keep as Nym’s group proceeded onwards.

The highwayman Chief turned out to be an Avvar warrior, who abandoned his tribe and turned to banditry instead. He towered over his soldiers, almost as big as the Iron Bull. Roaring to try and scare his opponents, he brought a great maul in his two hands and let the shaped stone head fall to the ground. It smashed the rock below, denting the ground.

The Qunari of the Inquisition stood before him. Unlike the Chief, he didn’t let out an intimidating cry. Instead, he simply grinned at his opponent, excitement and bloodlust emitting from his one eye. Without hesitation, he took his two-handed axe and ran at the Highwayman. The two clashed weapons with so much force it sounded like a strike of thunder.

Nym was just finishing his battle with another bandit warrior. He moved with grace, reading his opponent’s movements and dodging easily, quicker than his enemy. It was almost too easy, which surprised him. That’s when he realized it was his training with Heir that was paying off. After trying to follow her lightning moves, his body and mind became accustomed to it, sharpening his reflexes. Compared to her, this warrior moved as if in slow motion.

The man before him swung his sword with strength and savagery behind it, but it was no use. Nym blocked the first attack with one dagger, then blocked a slash with the other, stomping the man’s stomach with his heel. He leaped forward, blocking another strong slash to his side and spun around, cutting the man’s neck with his other dagger. The warrior let out one final gasp before collapsing to the ground.

He heard breathing behind him, and instantly noticed a presence; also something he has been training with Heir. He turned just in time to parry a deadly dagger from a Highwaywoman rogue, moving his center of balance and twisting his body to the side. His weight pulled him forward into a fall, but right before he lost his balance and fell, his leg slid forward and he thrust with his other dagger at the same time. His quick movement left the other rogue unprepared as Nym slid passed the woman’s guard. He pierced the rogue’s exposed throat, then quickly pulled the weapon out, leaping backwards. He saw the woman fall to her back, slowly bleeding out.

A burning light lit up the sky, bringing his attention to his surroundings. The lights came from Hawke and Dorian’s spells – every now and then a fiery explosion would disintegrate a bandit or two.   

He saw a bandit running away from the battle whilst screaming in pure terror, flailing his arms as if trying to swat away invisible bees. He didn’t even seem to notice the rogue as he ran straight towards him. Nym repositioned his dagger and stabbed the man’s stomach just as the escaping bandit tried to pass him by. _*It must be one of Dorian’s strange Necromancer spells,*_ the elf concluded. He knew the Mortalitasi had spells that could influence people’s mind and bring them on the verge of sheer terror. He didn’t know how it worked exactly, and hoped never to find out on his own skin.

The ground shook as the Highwayman Chief fell on his back, with the Iron Bull standing over him. The grey giant stomped onto the man’s head, crushing it, then swung down his axe into his stomach for good measure.

As the last bandit fell, the group looked at the Keep more closely. It was well-position and defensible, although they would have to replace the broken main gates with sturdier ones.

Bull gazed over the battlements. The rain was still falling hard, washing away the spilt bandit blood from the stone. “Good view. The Inquisition could use this place,” he commented.

“We could make camp here before we proceed. Wait for other Inquisition soldiers. We could use the reinforcements to clean up the undead and the demons on the road. Maybe send some to protect Crestwood until we deal with the fade rift in the lake,” Blackwall suggested.

Nymrodel also liked that idea. If they leave this place after dealing with the dam, the bandits would probably come back and reclaim it.

While the others searched the Keep, trying to find a warm place to hide from the rain while they wait, he sent a raven to scout Harding, asking her to send more of Inquisition soldiers to claim Caer Bronach and establish their Crestwood headquarters here.  

~……~

Knowing it’ll take at least a day for Inquisition agents to reach the fort, Nymrodel decided not to waste any more precious time. Blackwall, Hawke and Varric stayed behind to mind the fort, waiting for the Inquisition troops, while Nym and the rest proceeded onward to close the fade rift on the lake.

After reaching the dam, the group successfully drained the lake, giving them access to the destroyed Crestwood Village.

The mud made wet sounds with every footstep they took as they walked through old Crestwood Village. The houses that haven’t fallen from the flood were rotten and decrepit, slowly decaying over time. Bloated corpses, now nothing more than rotting flesh and bones, were lying everywhere on the ground - in their homes or on the muddy paths, as if the villagers were taken by surprise when the water came, having no time to flee.

Nym grimaced at the gruesome sight while he searched around. At least the water kept away the stench of long-dead flesh.

“I still don’t understand who repaired the dam controls,” he noted, recalling the large lever for the dam was working perfectly. “The mayor said the darkspawn destroyed it ten years ago.”

A corpse started stirring right as they passed it by. It moaned, slowly rising on its thin legs. It took a swaying step towards them, but stopped in its tracks when a dagger’s blade pierced its head from behind and right through the eye. The blade pulled back and the corpse fell into the mud, dead once more. Behind it stood Cole. He sheathed back his dagger. “The Mayor did,” he answered Nym. “His shame had this shape.” His gaze traveled across the devastated village, “The mayor dreams about this place. Shock and shame and hurt. I don't know why.” He spoke in wonder, giving that look as if he could see something no one else could.

The elf’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. He could understand if the mayor had nightmares about the old village, considering the destruction that happened here. But he didn’t quite understand what the young man meant when he said “shame.” What did the mayor have to be ashamed for?

Before he could ask further, a spirit cut the path right in front of them.

“Oh, shit,” Bull exclaimed in surprise, taking his trusted axe in his hands.

Another spirit passed behind them.

“We’re surrounded,” Dorian called out in alarm.

“Wait!” Cole stopped them before they attacked the spirits. “They mean no harm. They’re lost. Wandering. Wondering. Confused. They want to go home, but can’t.”

“They won’t attack us?” Nym glanced carefully between Cole and the spirits surrounding them. Now that he took a better look, he could see the whole village was filled with them – floating around, wandering as if lost, but minding their own business. They didn’t even seem to notice the unusual arrivals.

Or at least that is until one of them called out to Nym in a rather demanding voice. “You there!”

He saw a spirit floating inside a hut, turned to stare right at him. Blinking in confusion, he askingly pointed at himself.

“Yes, you! Come here,” the spirit commanded.

“Oh great, now they’re _talking_ to us,” Bull grumbled beside him, scowling unhappily.

 Nym shrugged and stepped forward, mindful in case the spirit decided to attack after all.

In a voice that could very well belong to a prideful noblewoman, the spirit demanded, “I order you to tell me why nothing here obeys my commands!”

“A spirit of Command. It is-,” Cole started to explain, only to be rudely interrupted.

“Silence, Compassion! Let _this one_ speak.” It barely gave Cole a passing glance before turning towards Nymrodel again.

Cole gave a soft, apologetic “Sorry,” before falling silent.

“This one rivals the arrogance of every pompous noble I know,” Dorian commented.

“Does that include you?” Bull taunted at him.

The Tevinter just shrugged, not offended in the slightest. “Why of course. Although _my_ arrogance is backed with actual skill behind it.”

Nym eyed the spirit in skepticism, troubled by its haughty attitude. It acted like some over-privileged noblewoman, giving out orders as if it had every right and authority to do so. “What is it that you want from me exactly?”

“I want something in this illogical world to listen to my command! Nothing here obeys me! I order the rock to move, and it dares to stay still. I don’t know how you mortals stand it,” the spirit raised its voice to a high-pitch, laced with frustration.

“Will can’t move a rock,” Cole shook his head, surprised that Command didn’t understand this.

“What Wonderboy here is trying to say is that this isn’t the Fade. Different world, different rules,” Dorian explained.

“Well I refuse to leave until something obeys my orders!” Command barked back and Nym could just imagine it stomping its foot on the ground in stubbornness, like an impertinent little lady would. Witnessing this scene, he could understand why Solas believed them to be as real as people.  

“I bet Solas would know what to make of this if he were here. He’d probably get a kick out of talking to it, too,” the elf muttered. He gazed back at the translucent form before him.

“Maybe we could help,” Cole started and Nym knew exactly where the blonde was going with this…unfortunately.

He closed his eyes and sighed, “Alright. It’s better than you staying here and getting corrupted in this world. So if we listen to your command, you’ll leave?”

 “Yes. Excellent! I have only one command: A creature made of rage had the gall to chase me across the lake,” it started.

“I don’t blame it,” Dorian muttered in the background.

“Destroy it in my name and be rewarded,” Command finished.

Nymrodel’s face fell the more it talked. _*I thought it would ask us to bring it something or do something simple so it could leave…not order us to risk our lives against a Rage demon just so it can feel satisfied,*_ the elf winced in his thoughts.

“Rewarded how? By you talking over one of our heads,” the Iron Bull asked in a growl behind him.

“Hmpf! Yours holds no interest,” the spirit huffed at him.

“Works for me,” he shrugged, quite satisfied that the spirit showed no interest in him. Less so by the fact it appeared to be rather interested in the Inquisitor.

“I felt your coming, elf. Why is that?” The Command asked, gazing back at Nym.

The said elf shrugged, scratching the back on his head. “I don’t know…Cole said my mark is bright so it attracts spirits. They can even see it from the other side of the Veil. It must be because of that,” he guessed.

“That must be it then,” the spirit concluded, sounding a bit disappointed. “Then go and do my bidding, elf!”

“And there’s also the small fact that you command the whole Inquisition and its army,” Dorian reminded him with a smirk. “Maybe a _Command_ spirit could be attracted to that, no?” He asked sarcastically.

 “Then be careful. Attracting demons never ends well…or spirits,” the Qunari warned before muttering, “I still don’t see the difference.”

“I think the difference is: one of them don’t try to kill you,” Nymrodel gave him a knowing smile. Turning to keep on moving forward, he shrugged. “Well, I suppose killing a Rage demon isn’t the worst order we could’ve gotten. I think that comes with my job description anyway,” he joked.

~…..~

Nym’s initial contentment from finding an entrance to the underground caves didn’t last long when they found themselves deep in the tunnels. It was a labyrinth of dark caverns, winding and going deeper into the earth, with the undead and angry spirits lashing out at them on sight. They would probably be lost there for ages if not for Cole’s unusual ability to sense the energy of the fade and guide them towards the rift.

“I have to admit Cole; you’re a pretty useful spirit…demon…thing,” Bull said as Cole successfully guided them out of the dark caves to what looked like an ancient dwarven ruin buried deep beneath the surface. The large Qunari still kept his distance from the strange young man though, unsure what to make of him.

“Thank you?” The blonde stared at the large man behind his long bangs. “And you are afraid of demons. Are you afraid of me too, the Iron Bull?”

The Qunari frowned, “I’m not a big fan of them, no. But you and I are fine as long as you don’t do any weird crap.”

The boy stared at him for a while before the words rushed out of him, “Lying awake, sheets soaked in sweat, afraid to call the Tamassrans. Shadows make shapes in the dark.” Bull appeared taken aback – a rare sight for the ready-for-anything Ben-Hassrath. “If it gets in my head, how do I cut it out? Itching, shaking, tears slide cold down my cheeks. “Tama, I'm scared,” Cole whined in his own voice, although the words were someone else’s – the Iron Bull’s.

The other’s expression darkened as he watched Cole with a grim frown, “Yeah, weird crap like that? Pretty much what I meant.”

Dorian laughed. “Seems even the all-powerful Iron Bull has fears,” he gloated.

“Watch it, mage,” the Qunari growled.

“I’m just happy I’m not the one on the receiving end of Cole’s abilities, for a change,” Nym called out with a satisfied smile, stretching out his arms.

 “You are too bright. It is hard to see…Who is Sei?” Cole started peering into his mind, misreading Nym’s words.

The elf froze for a moment. “That was definitely _not_ an invitation to do it, Cole,” he yelped, stopping the young man before he could say anymore.

“Sorry,” the boy shrugged. Behind him, Dorian and Bull exchanged curious glances at Nym’s sudden panic.

Lavellan walked the rest of the way in silence, his heart beating harder than he wished. He wondered how Cole could see into his mind so easily when he said Nym’s Anchor made it too blinding to see. _“Only if it’s on your mind,”_ Cole had explained before. But Nymrodel understood. The pain of losing his twin brother was always somewhere in the back of his mind, never truly letting him be. _*That must be the case if Cole could sense it,*_ he mulled over it, keeping his thoughtful gaze on the ground.

 Unbeknownst to him, a keen eye watched his bothered expression, soaking in the way his features twisted in pain or worry while he thought. The Ben-Hassrath agent was always skilled at reading people’s expressions, especially when they were an open book like the whitehaired elf. Lavellan was obviously bothered by something, yet he kept it locked deep inside so even Cole couldn’t easily reach it. Bull frowned in worry as he watched him.

“Nym, look out!” Dorian’s voice brought them all out of their musings.

A blast of fire traveled towards the rogue elf, catching on his coat and armor. Nym quickly jumped back, patting his clothes to try and extinguish the fire. A part of his sleeve burned through, and he could feel a stinging sensation on his forearm. He couldn’t take care of the burn, however, as the biggest Rage demon he had ever seen slid from around the corner and menacingly towered over him. It let out an angry roar, then its chest swelled up as it prepared to release another blast of fire.  

“Nym,” Dorian called out again, casting his spell, and the elf could feel the protective energy enveloping him.

He quickly unsheathed his daggers and leapt forward without fear, right into the roaring fire. With his blade shielding his eyes and the barrier around him, he cut through the flames and swung with both weapons at the Rage demon. The sharp blades sliced through the magma like it was water, the thick liquid barely giving any resistance. Regenerating its body, the demon shrunk in size. However, it was far from defeated. It sliced with one blazing, clawed arm at the elf, but he ducked below and slid to the side to cut at its flank. 

In a second, the large Qunari was right beside him, swinging his axe at the demon and slicing off one of its arms. While the pair kept the roaring Rage busy, Cole attacked it from behind, stabbing and slashing with his daggers.

The demon roared, even louder than before. The sounds bounced off the stone walls and echoed through the dimly lit corridors. It grew again, as if feeding off of its own rage. But it didn’t attack them as before. From the change in its attitude, Nym realized it was planning something bigger.

“Pull away from it,” he shouted in warning.

He jumped back, just in time as the rage demon fell forward, spilling towards them like molten lava.

Bull raised the broad side of his axe in front of him like a shield, minding his face, as he pulled back as fast as his big body could carry him. Even though they managed to dodge the main attack, scorching droplets of fallen lava still splashed towards them. 

Nym threw four throwing knives during his jump backwards, while holding up one dagger in front of his face to shield his eyes. He felt the sizzling burn on his skin as some of the lava sprayed on his hand, burning through the glove.

Dorian took the time to focus on the throwing knives, freezing them in their flight. The frozen blades hit the demon just as it was slowly forming its shape again. They pierced it, cooling it off where they hit and damaging it even more. The mage chanted another spell and froze the Rage demon for a time.

“Hurry, now,” he called out.

Bull charged forward again, grunting as he smashed his shoulder against the frozen form.

Behind them, the Tevinter focused on the rubble around him, slowly gathering it up and forming a large ball of stone. Controlling it with his staff, he sent the flying boulder into the frozen demon. The stone collided with the form, taking a chunk of the demon with it as it shattered back into debris. The mage leaned on his staff and breathed hard, fighting the exhaustion from using so much mana in so little time.

The ice started to melt, the lava underneath bubbling again. The Rage demon was reawaking, gathering magma to form its body again.

Nym rushed forward and aimed for the parts that were still frozen or cooled down. He attacked with both weapons in lightning speed, slicing the icy chunks in little pieces so the demon wouldn’t have time to regenerate. Cole appeared next to him, doing the same.

By the time all the ice melted and the demon’s body rejoined in its lava form, it was no bigger than Nymrodel. It roared at Cole and the elf, puffing up its chest again to blow fire. It never got the chance as Bull sliced with his axe from behind, splitting the creature in half. This time, the magma didn’t assemble again. The demon was truly dead – nothing but a pool of molten lava left on the ground.

“The Rage demon came from the villagers. Some were very angry before they died,” Cole commented, watching the puddle.

“I’d be pissed off too if Darkspawn drowned me to death,” Bull added. 

Only now did Nym let himself feel the small burns on his skin. He hissed, licking his burned forearm to cool down the wound. He noticed Dorian from the corner of his eyes, staring at him strangely. “Whfat?” He asked with a shrug, his tongue still sticking out. 

 “Cute, but you’re not a wounded animal. And I don’t think that will help,” the Tevinter told him.

The elf frowned, “I’ll put some elfroot salve on it later. No time for that now. Look,” he pointed at the strange green light flashing against the walls nearby.

“It must be the fade rift. We’re close,” Dorian commented.

Nym looked at the mark on his hand. It was crackling, activated by the rift. “I know,” he muttered. The mark was like a radar, always powering up when they were near a rift. It was equal parts unsettling and convenient.

 He put aside the pain and sting he was feeling from his fight just now, and took his dual daggers into his hands again. “Let’s do this.”

~….~

With an agonizing, angry cry, Nym held out his left hand while the connection between him and the fade rift lasted.

He was barely standing, weak from exhaustion and pain. The tear on his left leg left by a Shade burned as if it was on fire, the ache pulsating in accordance with his pounding heart. He held onto his right side where he slammed right into a rock when a Terror demon flung him across the room. He couldn’t tell if his ribs were broken or just bruised, but it hurt to breathe and he couldn’t stand up straight anymore.

Numerous times he weakened the rift, trying to close it, and each time the rift would crackle and remain, while more demons seeped out of it. He was getting exhausted, the strain slowing him down in battle and getting him injured, which only weakened him more and so the vicious cycle continued.

His comrades didn’t look much better. Cole was breathing hard, but still standing. Dorian’s robes were ripped in places, with red marks of Terror’s claws on his tanned chest. Even the Iron Bull had a deep gash on his forehead right above his eyepatch. The blood flowed down generously, staining the dark steel of his eyepatch. Good thing the wound wasn’t above his other eye, or he’d be blinded by the blood. 

 With one frustrated roar, Nym sent the energy into the fade rift and it exploded in the air. The glistening green pieces rained down on them and disappeared into the murky water they were standing in.

With a cough that made his ribs scream in pain, the elf fell to his knees. He held himself up with one hand, the other still holding onto his side, as he tried to catch his breath.

Cole appeared before him and Nym didn’t even have the energy to flinch startled at the strange blonde that always appeared out of nowhere. He helped the elf up, draping Nym’s arm over his shoulders for support.

“Are you alright?” Dorian asked, taking a flask from his belt and downing a healing potion. He handed one to the elf and the other drank it in earnest. It won’t heal all of the wounds completely, but it will stop the bleeding and lessen the pain.

 “Fenedhis, that was one tough fade rift,” the elf groaned. The weakness that washed over him after closing the rift made his muscles lose their strength.

“You think you can make it back to Caer Bronach,” Bull asked him.

“Unless we’re planning to settle down here and build our new home, I don’t think I have a choice,” he smiled weakly. He could see the worry written all over their faces and hoped he would put their minds at ease with some light-hearted humor.

“Oh, I don’t know. With the right drapes and good lighting, I think I could make a lovely ménage out of this place. Don’t underestimate my decorating expertise,” the Tevinter mage quipped back.

Nym chuckled, glad to see they were less anxious about him now. As soon as his did though, his features twisted in pain again.

“Good to see you haven’t lost your wisecracking sense of humor, despite being barely conscious. I’m sure Varric would be proud,” Bull gave him a knowing smirk. 

“Oh you know what they say; Wit before sword…or something like that,” the elf retorted.

Dorian raised an elegant eyebrow. “They say that in the South?”

“I have no idea.” He was starting to ramble from either exhaustion or bloodloss. He wasn’t even _from_ the South, but the Marches.

They helped him walk out of the ruined hall and through the old dwarven ruins, Cole leading them back up towards the surface again. Nym sighed in relief when he felt a rush of air nearby, meaning they were on the right path to the exit. When the healing potion kicked in, some of his wounds closed up, although not all of them completely. At least the pain became bearable enough so he could walk on his own. The fatigue was still there however, constantly threatening to pull him out of consciousness and into a much needed deep sleep.

~…..~

When they finally exited the caverns, Nym was blinded by the sunlight.

Wait. Sunlight?

He blinked, shielding his eyes from the bright rays of light that hit them. All of a sudden, it was like the whole of Crestwood changed when they closed the fade rift. The sky was clear, with barely a cloud floating above. All the rain from earlier was gone as if the storm had swiftly passed while they were deep underground.

“Unbelievable,” Dorian whispered to himself.

“So the rift was causing the storm,” the Qunari concluded.

“Nymrodel!” Cole’s sudden yell brought the pair’s attention back to him. They saw the young elf slumped over Cole’s shoulder, eyes closed. He lost consciousness. The blonde was struggling to hold him upright, but it proved too difficult with only his strength and Nym’s entire weight pulling him down.

Before the elf fell, Bull caught him and, mindful of his injuries, held him up in his arms. “You push yourself too far, sometimes,” he muttered although Lavellan couldn’t hear him.

“Is he dead?” Cole asked, eerily calm.

Dorian sighed, “No. He’s just exhausted from closing that big rift.” Then he scrunched his nose at the Qunari. “I’m surprised you didn’t just toss him over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes. That would look like your style more.”

“Hey, I can be _very_ careful when I want to. And I’m not trying to break our Inquisitor here…,” he grumbled.

“Right. Who knows what Cassandra would do to you if you accidentally hurt him,” the mage muttered. “Good thing she’s not here to see him in this state. She would positively lose it with worry.”

“She’d blame you just as much. She trusts you even less than me, Tevinter.”

 The mage rolled his eyes, “Don’t remind me.”

~…..~

Iron Bull walked through Caer Bronach, which was now filled with people. Inquisition agents arrived at the fort by the time the group returned from their quest with a weakened Inquisitor. Nym managed to recuperate some in a camp along the way, but was slipping in and out of consciousness. Luckily, by the time they returned to the keep, the Inquisition healers were supplied and ready to help mend his wounds, while the mages rejuvenated him with magic.

The elf was put to recuperate in his quarters for the rest of the day, although knowing him, Bull wouldn’t be surprised if he found him sitting in bed with a lap full of paperwork, working on new reports.

He turned a corner to another hall, nodding to the passing agents who respectfully greeted him. By now, everyone in the Inquisition knew who he was – a valuable member of the Inquisitor’s inner circle. He wondered how many of them also knew he was a Ben-Hassrath spy. 

He walked over to the doors where Lavellan was holed up - his healers had firmly warned him that he should stay in bed and rest for the time being. Then again, the young elf was a stubborn one and he rarely complied just because someone told him to. That was one of the reasons Bull decided to check on him.

He was just about to knock, his fist already in the air, when he heard muffled voices from the other side. Someone was with the Inquisitor.

“You’re still going?” Nym’s voice winced in question on the other side of the doors.

The other voice belonged to Dorian. “I’m almost there…This would be so much easier if you took it off like I suggested.”

The rogue groaned in impatience, “I’m holding it, it’s fine…hahaha! That tickles!”

“Kaffas! Keep still, would you!”

Bull blinked with his good eye, eyebrow raised. The conversation sounded almost lascivious, but he couldn’t quite decipher what was going on. Well, he could imagine, but Dorian and Nymrodel? He found it hard to picture.

Interested, he opened the doors to find Nym lying on his back on the bed with his elbows propping him up. He held the rim of his undershirt with his mouth, clearly showing his pectoral muscles. If that wasn’t enough, Dorian was leaning over the half-naked elf.

The pair turned their heads towards the newcomer, and the trio stared at each other in silence for what seemed like eternity. Finally, Bull broke it as he cleared his throat, a sly smirk on his features. “Sorry to disturb you. You can continue-,” he went to close the door and give the two some privacy.

Nym realized the Qunari completely misread the situation. “Wait! It’s not what it looks like!” Face and ears completely flushed with the brightest color of red, he called out, reaching to stop Bull.

The other stopped in his tracks, chuckling in amusement. He knew exactly what it was, but it was fun messing with the elf. He could clearly see the gentle white light on Dorian’s palm as he held it inches over Nym’s side, where his ribs were still recovering. There was a large mark over his ribs – a bruise of blue, purple and green. Soon, when Dorian is done healing him, there would be no trace of any injury left. On the bed were also elfroot salves and bandages, for Nym’s cuts and his injured leg. Even though the healers took care of it, it seemed Dorian was being extra fussy and wanted to make sure there wasn’t even one scar left on Nym’s body.

“Oh, Bull. You’re back,” the mage greeted him nonchalantly, completely in contrast to the flustered Lavellan.

The Qunari sighed, _*What was I even worried about for…?*_ He stopped his train of thought, mulling over his own choice of words. _Worried?_ Why would he be worried?

“Just came to check on the Boss. How ya doing?” He asked the elf, who collected himself when he realized the misunderstanding was cleared up.

“I’m _fine_. I’ve been telling _him_ that since he jumped me in my quarters.” Nym mimicked a very Cassandra-like expression as he scowled at Dorian. 

“The healers said you should be putting the salve every few hours so your wounds don’t get infected. And on those burns too. Don’t think I haven’t noticed them,” the mage argued back, acting like a mother hen.

Nym grumbled like a disobedient child.

“If Cassandra was here, I bet you’d be obedient,” Dorian complained.

“Yeah well, Cassandra scares me!...Sometimes,” the elf bit back.

The Iron Bull laughed, entering the room and closing the doors behind him. “Alright Dorian, give him some space.”

“Now you’re taking his side,” the mage muttered under his breath, but moved away from Nym.

The rogue sat up, pulling down his shirt. As he did, the fabric brushed on a burn on his back, and the stinging sensation made him grimace despite himself.

“See!?” Dorian exclaimed. He stood up, hands in the air. “I give up. _You_ talk to him,” he gave the Qunari a pointed look and stomped out of the room, closing the doors behind him.

Nym stuck his tongue out at the closed doors.

“Very mature,” Bull chuckled. The man drew closer and took the container with the elfroot medicine in his hand, examining the little metal box. He saw Nym eyeing him carefully as he approached, like an animal ready to escape at any moment if threatened. “Alright…How about this; You let me put this salve on your injuries and…I’ll teach you some of Qunlat’s best swear words.”

Nym blinked, then widened his eyes and burst out laughing. He didn’t expect that to be the bargain.

“Hey, we have some really good ones, and you did say you’re interested in the language,” the Qunari grinned.

The elf wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “Yeah, to learn how to say “Good day” or “I’m not your enemy,” not to say “Suck it!” to someone. I think that’s more Sera’s thing. You should try that with her, she’d love that,” he snickered.

“So that’s a ‘no’?” Bull smirked, twirling the metal box in his hand.

The other sighed, still smiling widely by the suggestion. “Fine.” He lifted one rim of his pants, showing a cut on his calf. It was mostly healed, only a thin line left of the previously deep injury. “I can do this one, but I guess I can’t reach the ones on my back.” There was a troubled expression on his face as he said that.

The bed creaked and dented as the large Qunari sat beside him. Not too close to cause discomfort, but close enough so he can reach for the elf. Nym slathered some cream on his calf and wrapped around clean bandages. By the time he unwraps them again, the scar should be completely gone. He laid on his stomach on the bed, then stiffened when Bull slowly pulled up his shirt.

“What’s wrong? You seemed fine when you were lifting your shirt in front of the mage earlier,” Bull teased.

“It’s not that,” Nym started, but fell silent as the Qunari lifted his shirt all the way to his collar.

Iron Bull watched the smooth, pale skin underneath. His hips were lean, and his back taut with shifting muscles every time the elf would fidget. He was built sturdier than one would expect after seeing his lithe frame over the clothes. He shivered from the brisk air in the room, his back muscles flexing in response. Bull had to admit the sight looked inviting, as if he was made to be touched and held by those slender hips. 

He tilted his head in interest when his gaze traveled upwards. He always thought Nym’s body had no scars on it. It was strange for a fighter, even for a rogue, but his skin always looked so milky and smooth – utterly unmarred. At least that’s what Bull thought. And that was true for the most part…until he saw the two long scars on the upper part of his back.

One scar was on the side of his right shoulder-blade, traveling bellow and over the muscle. The other began on his left shoulder and traveled over his left shoulder-blade. The scars looked like they were stitched in a hurry by a healer, rather than healed by magic.

“I never knew you had scars on your back. The rest of you is just so…unmarked,” he noted, tracing the two scars with his fingers. The first thought that came to mind was “ _perfect”_ , but he quickly dismissed it lest he says something strange to the rogue.

Nym gasped at the sudden contact, then stiffened – an action that didn’t go unnoticed by the Qunari’s trained eye. 

There was a strain in his voice as he answered, “Yeah…” He didn’t give any other explanation for them so Bull realized they must be a sensitive topic for some reason.

“Is that why you didn’t let Dorian take off your shirt and heal your back?” He prodded, and by Nym’s awkward reaction, he knew he was right.

“Because he would definitely want to know about them and you know how insistent he can be…,” the elf mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow he was burying his face in.

Bull chuckled, knowing exactly what he meant. He decided not to pry. If it was something Nym didn’t want to talk about, he would respect that. “I won’t ask, so don’t worry.” He smiled when he saw the elf relax again. His eyes traveled across his back and he noticed a few burns left by the Rage demon’s fires. He took the salve, coating some on his large fingers, and gently pressed them against the burns.

Nym’s breath hitched before he hissed at the contact. Bull’s hands were calloused, his skin rough from holding a weapon. But it didn’t feel uncomfortable. Quite the opposite. When he focused on the soothing, cool feeling of the salve against his skin, it actually felt nice.

Even so, he felt his heart beat loudly in his chest and a small feeling of nervousness started to creep inside him. Wherever Bull touched, his skin would feel hot even after the hands moved on from that place. Nym had to bite his bottom lip and suppress a shudder when those large hands gently pressed his sensitive, hurting ribs, caressing the elfroot medicine in the skin there. He let out a small whine.  

He was starting to feel the heat pooling down in the pit of his stomach and he stiffened in realization. * _No way,*_ he shouted in his mind when he realized his nether regions were starting to feel the same heat. He was beginning to get erect under Bull’s ministrations! Just the idea of the shame he would feel if he was discovered made his blood freeze. He tried not to stir, acting inconspicuous, even though he wanted nothing more than to jump up and escape from the room. _*This can’t be happening. Why? And with Iron Bull of all people!?*_ He was afraid the Ben-Hassrath’s keen observation skills would surely pick up on his suspicious behavior.

As if confirming his fears, the Qunari asked, “Is something wrong?”

“Qunlat!” Nym blurted out the first thing that popped into his head.

“Uhh…what?”

“The Qunari words you promised to teach me. Teach me now,” the elf explained in a rush of words. He needed something to keep his mind occupied so he wouldn’t think, or _feel_ , other things. Like Bull’s hands massaging gently the sore muscles around his hip, or the feeling of his erection pressing against the bed.

The large man above him chuckled in amusement. He could see Nym’s slender ears sticking up, with the tips flushed with red. It looked cute, almost like they wanted to be nipped and nibbled on. He smirked, licking his lips as he watched those ears twitch. He guessed the elf needed something to preoccupy his mind so he wouldn’t feel embarrassed by his touches. And in all honesty, Bull could use the distraction too. “Okay. So the next time some Tal-Vashoth asshole gets all in your business, you tell him “Kadanshok defransdim vashedan!” the Iron Bull began.

“What does that mean?”

“It means; “You will struggle with your wounded intimate friends,” he explained, trying to find the closest translation. Nym titled his head up in askance. “Basically, it means “I’ll kick you in the balls”,” the Qunari shrugged.

The elf couldn’t help but snort in laughter. Then he tried to repeat the words slowly, just like Bull said them, “Kadan-shock…da..defran…sdim vashe-dan…”

Bull chuckled in amusement, “We’ll work on it.”

At least the distraction was working, and Nymrodel’s mind was too preoccupied with the Qunlat lessons to think of Bull’s hands on him. As the last of his burned flesh was treated with the elfroot salve, Bull backed away, lowering his shirt back down.

Nym deeply sighed in relief, feeling he just dodged an arrow. Somehow he made it through the heated ordeal, but his erection was still there and he knew he couldn’t sit back up. His pants were too tight for it to go unnoticed.  _*Alright, think of something else…something benign. Uhh…Dorian’s mustache, Cullen’s strange fur thingy on his collar, Cassandra’s iron fist, umm…Varric’s latest book…,*_ he rambled in his mind.  _*Why am I getting excited by Bull anyway? He’s a man. I’ve never been attracted to a man before…Well, Cullen is pretty handsome I guess…Wait, wait, wait, that’s not the point! No, it’s just a physical reaction to the touches, that’s all. Just a physical reaction. It’s just a body thing, it happens,*_ he tried to persuade himself

“-oss. Boss. Nym!” The elf jumped, startled by Bull’s deep voice. Only now did he realize that the man was calling him. “You ok? You seemed a bit out of it for a sec there,” he asked.

Lavellan nodded, “Sorry. Just deep in thought.” At least his panicked musings calmed him down, he realized.

He turned on his hip to look at the Qunari sitting next to him, still on the bed. Suddenly, Nym was painfully aware of how close and alone they were in his small quarters. He gulped. Focusing on other things, he tried not to think about it. “I, uh…I never got the chance to thank you for all the Ben-Hassrath reports you shared with us. Leliana really put them to excellent use for the Inquisition. Especially the one with the Venatori agent infiltrating Hunter Fell. That one was tough and could’ve become a real mess.”

The Qunari spy smirked, “Heard you and Leliana figured it out, though. You’re lucky Red is so good at her job.”

Nym smiled. “Don’t I know it.”

Once again he felt calm and at peace talking to Bull. Whatever panicked nervousness happened before, it was gone now, replaced by the usual comfortable atmosphere around them. In the end, Iron Bull was always easy to talk to.

“I was wondering…,” the Qunari started, breaking the silence. “When we first came to Crestwood, you asked me about Dalish and how I feel about her being unbound and free despite Qunari traditions.” Nym gave him a nod, remembering the conversation. “Why did you stop me before I gave you an answer?”

 “Oh, that.” Nym gave him a small apprehensive smile, awkwardly clearing his throat. “I felt it was a touchy subject for you and I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries between us. After all, I know you’re a Ben-Hassrath and a Qunari, but you are also the captain of the Bull’s Chargers and I know you care about them a lot. It must be a complicated thing for you, so I didn’t want to press the topic,” he explained, then gave him a sheepish smile, “Honestly, I felt a bit bad for even mentioning it.”  

Bull watched the young elf with an unreadable expression, but he felt surprised by the answer. It was unexpected that this Dalish elf would go so far to think about his feelings and respect his stances on the matter. It was in that moment that Bull was reminded; Lavellan wasn’t just this flaky guy he often appeared to be. The little guy was much sharper and more grown up than most people gave him credit for. Even Bull thought of him as a kid when they first met, but was soon proven wrong.   

Nym opened his mouth to say something else when a loud knock shook his door. “Yes?” He called out.

The woman in the Inquisition’s uniform opened the creaking doors. The freckled blonde elf with her hair always tightly bound in a bun entered the room. Nym knew her well by now – Charter. She was assigned to a new post at Caer Bronach, as the one in charge to mind the fort and restore order in Crestwood. There were still many Highwaymen causing trouble and attacking people on the roads now that their fort was gone, and she was the main agent responsible for cleaning up that mess. She had her work cut out for her, but she was a capable agent – one of Leliana’s best. Nym had no doubt she could reinstate control in Crestwood. “I’m sorry to disturb you Inquisitor, but I have some dire news.”

Nym sat on his bed in earnest, his long ears perking up in interest.

Bull slowly got up. “That’s my cue to disappear then.”

The elf glanced at him, “It’s alright to stay. I trust you,” he said nonchalantly, like it was common knowledge and the most natural thing in the world.

Bull glanced behind his shoulder, slightly startled by the sudden proclamation. It was rare for any Southerner to say to a Qunari he trusted them, especially when they knew the said Qunari was a Ben-Hassrath agent. He remembered Nym was reluctant to trust the Qunari spy with the Inquisition reports when the Iron Bull first joined, but now he had none of that suspicion left in his eyes as he read the note Charter gave him. So Bull stayed and listened.

Charter took a breath before speaking, “We went to Crestwood village to inform the mayor the fade rift was closed, but he was gone. He disappeared before we arrived and none of the villagers knew his whereabouts. Then we found this in his house.” She gestured at the letter Nymrodel was currently reading.

As he read, his face paled, while his eyes widened in shock. “This is a letter of confession from mayor Dedrick! It says ten years ago it wasn’t the Darkspawn who flooded the village, but _him_. He says it was to stop the Blight sickness from spreading.” He gritted his teeth in anger after reading through the whole thing.

“So he escaped before he could face the consequences. I knew he was acting suspicious. He was too twitchy,” Bull growled.

“I cannot leave Caer Bronach since I still have my orders, but we can send a group of scouts to hunt him down. He couldn’t have gotten far,” the elven woman suggested.

Nym nodded without a second thought. “Do that. He won’t get away from his past that easily.”

* * *

Glossary:

 _Kadanshok defransdim vashedan -_ You will struggle with your wounded intimate friends! (Seems dockside in nature. More colloquially, "I shall use my foot to assault you in the genitals.")

 _Fenedhis_ – Fuck

 _Kaffas_ \- Shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the undead again! Nym really has no luck with those things... X)  
> I feel like this chapter was a bit shorter, but I decided it would be a good end there.  
> As always, thank you for reading and feel free to leave a comment about what you think!


	17. Trouble with the Wardens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! Thank you for waiting. Here's another chapter.  
> Warning: Some NSFW content in the beginning of this chapter!

 

He felt big, gentle hands slide down his shoulders. Their palms were rough, calloused, but the feeling only left pleasurable goosebumps on his skin. The hands moved slowly, down his arms first, then switched to his torso. They were much bigger than his own. Easily stroking his flesh, warming up his body everywhere they touched. One slid against his chest, while the other caressed his stomach. He arched into those big hands, enjoying the pleasurable feeling they brought. One hand slid down his waist, while the other moved upwards and brushed its calloused fingertips over his nipple. He let out a sharp gasp, arching his back. His body begged for more. A feeling of hot breath tickled his sensitive ear, brushing against his hair. The person behind him breathed calmly in his ear, stroking his flesh. One hand traveled even lower, from his stomach to his thighs. It brushed against one thigh teasingly, up to his twitching member, before the fingers wrapped around it.

“Nym,” a low rumbling whisper, painfully familiar, breathed into his ear at the same time.

With a sharp gasp, Lavellan lunged forward and sat up in his bed. He panted, his bare skin glistening with a sheen of sweat. His eyes were wide as he looked around the small room, his dream still vivid in his mind. It took him a moment to remember where he was. Gradually, he recognized his quarters at Caer Bronach where the first pale light shone through the only window in the room.

His heartbeat finally settled down and he flopped back onto the bed. A numb ache pulsated between his legs and he lifted the blanket to see he had a dire case of morning wood. With a frustrated groan, he let his head fall back onto the pillow. It’s true he had no time to take care of himself since their trip to Crestwood, as privacy was a bit of an issue when constantly on the road with his companions. The camping tent wasn’t exactly a safe place to jerk off.

Wanting to finish it quickly so he could get his day started, Nym reached beneath the blanket and gripped his twitching manhood. It was already wet with precum, crying for attention. He begun to stroke himself, closing his eyes. He tried to recall his dream, still confused by it. He had no idea who was touching him, yet it felt so familiar, the answer on the tip of his tongue. He tried to recall the large hands groping his skin. The pace of his hand intensified and he let out a small moan, spreading his legs wider in pleasure. The dream must’ve made him more excited, because he felt it more than usual.

“Nnh.” He pumped himself faster, letting out soft groans and moans, afraid someone passing by the room might hear. The pleasure in his groin intensified, making him clutch the blanket with his other hand, feeling he was reaching the edge. “Aah!” He fell off with one final moan and arched his hips into his hand, squeezing out the last few drops of his cum as it spilled out. His muscles went limp while he stared at the dark ceiling, trying to catch his breath.

“Damn,” he muttered.

~……~

An apple came flying at him and Nym caught it effortlessly, taking a bite before he sat down at the dining table. The rest of the group was already there, eating breakfast.

“We were betting if you had overslept or not,” Blackwall laughed, being the one who tossed him the apple.

“Morning, Sunshine,” Hawke grinned at him. 

“Someone looks like he’s had a turbulent night,” Varric nodded at him with a smirk.

“I’mf wfell rested, actually,” the elf answered, chewing the apple and gulping the piece down.

“How’s your body today, Boss,” the Iron Bull asked. He was currently devouring a large meat drum of an animal Nym couldn’t even recognize.

* _Apparently it’s all spry and ready for action,*_ the elf thought ironically, remembering his rather energetic awakening this morning. “It’s…better,” he decided to simply answer.

“Good morning, Your worship,” a few Inquisition agents greeted him as they passed by with food on their plates. A small group of them was already playing Wicked Grace at the corner table.

He nodded at them in greeting, finishing his apple and already putting pieces of bread and cheese onto his plate. He suddenly realized he was starving.

“You know, this reminds me of our meals back at the Hanged Man,” Varric noted.

“If you can call those meals. A stew of suspicious origin. I never wanted to know what was in there – safer that way.” Hawke scrunched his nose in disgust.

“Ahh, _The Special_ , yes. It was swivel, but it would get you right back up on your feet after fighting slavers and blood mages all night,” the dwarf chuckled.

 “I've been to the Hanged Man, actually, probably been twenty years now. It was a dive if I remember correctly,” Blackwall commented.

“Ha! It's _the_ dive. Filled with the best and worst people in the world.”

“Yes, I heard it was a haunt of yours from Lady Cassandra,” the warrior chuckled.

Varric laughed. “Haunt? It was home, right Hawke?”

The apostate laughed, “For you who practically lived in the place, yes.”

The dwarf shrugged with a smile, “What can I say; sometimes you want to be where everybody knows your name.”

“Now I know why you used to spend so much time in Haven’s tavern. I suspect the same will be with the one in Skyhold when they finish repairing it,” Dorian joined the conversation.

“It’s the best place to find people for a Wicked Grace game,” the dwarf innocently shrugged.

“Hah! Don’t you mean; to find victims to bleed them dry by the end of the night?” Nym gave him a knowing glower. He was usually one of those victims.   

The roguish dwarf laughed, “That’s why I told you, you gotta practice, Snow. Practice makes perfect.”

“And poor…Every _practice_ takes a few more Royals out of my pocket,” the elf muttered with a sulky frown.

The rest of them just laughed at the bantering duo.

While the group continued to enjoy their breakfast, Nym’s big elven eyes kept glancing at the Iron Bull. The large man was talking with Blackwall about some fighting techniques on the battlefield, laughing loudly with the other man every now and then. As he watched the Qunari, a scene from Nym’s dream flashed in his mind and he quickly averted his gaze. _*Maybe I had that dream because of yesterday, when Bull was putting medicine on my back,*_ he mused, remembering the awkward moment when his body got a little too excited from the contact. He quickly pushed the idea away, _*No, that’s nonsense! Why would I dream of Bull?*_ He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head hard, trying to dismiss the nagging notions in his mind.  

~…..~

Shara neighed happily as it carried Nym down the hill. The group finally arrived at a suspicious-looking cavern where Hawke’s Warden friend should be waiting.

“It’s here,” the apostate announced. “The cave used to belong to a Highwaymen group. They used it as their hideout, before Stroud cleaned them out and took over.”

Nym dismounted his Hart, while Hawke, Blackwall and Varric did the same with their horses. He decided to only take a small group with him, so they wouldn’t be too conspicuous on the road, since the Grey Wardens were still searching about.

The entrance to the cave was gaping, dark and ominous. As they carefully proceeded inside, their way was barely lit by torches. Nym scrunched up his nose at the smell of damp in the air. They had to be careful not to collide with the stalagmites that rose from the ground, while the humans had to duck their heads not to hit the stalactites growing from the low ceiling. Thankfully, Varric and Nym hardly had that problem since they were shorter – at least some use from being small statured.

They came to a stop at the wooden doors, a Highwaymen symbol still painted on the side. Nym went in first, just in case there were some traps inside that he needed to deactivate. Just like Varric, he had a keen eye for them and learned how to set them off or deactivate them without getting anyone in harm’s way. It was one of the main fields of study when becoming a hunter in his Clan.

He checked for traps around the old doorframe and doorstep, but found none. Walking inside, his keen eyes examined the rest of the room – if it could be called that. The cavern was spacious, but mostly empty and lightly furnished. There was a large table in the middle, filled with maps and reports. He drew closer to examine it when he sensed a presence sneaking behind him.

Pulling out one dagger, he swiftly spun around, pointing the blade at the unknown person. The man in front of him, wearing a Grey Warden armor and a thick set of mustache that would even leave Dorian’s wanting, had a sword pointed towards Nymrodel. The two stared at each other, studying one another as they kept their blades up.

Until Hawke burst into the room. “Put your sword down Stroud, it’s just us! I brought the Inquisitor,” he gestured towards the young elf.

Seeing a familiar face, the mustached human furrowed his eyebrows in recognition, then slowly lowered his sword. Nym did the same with his blade.

“My name is Stroud, Inquisitor. I’m at your service.” Completely changing his disposition, the Warden relaxed, although a few unknown people entered the room with the apostate.

“Nym Lavellan,” the elf nodded in a greeting. “I hear you can connect some dots for us…hopefully even tell us more about Corypheus, our common enemy?”

The Warden scowled. “I fear it is so. When Hawke slew Corypheus, Weisshaupt was happy to put the matter to rest. But an Archdemon can survive wounds that seem fatal, and I feared Corypheus might possess the same power. My investigation uncovered clues, but no proof,” he sighed. “Then, not long after, every Warden in Orlais begun to hear the Calling.”

“I recall that being a bad thing, but I don’t recall you telling me about all _this_ ,” Hawke frowned at his friend.

Stroud genuinely looked apologetic. “It was a Grey Warden matter, and I was bound by an oath of secrecy.”

“The Calling?” Lavellan asked, tilting his head to the side. His questioning gaze traveled to Blackwall first.

Stroud was the one to answer, though. “The Calling tells a Warden that the Blight will soon claim him. It starts with dreams. Then come whispers in his head. The Warden says his farewells and goes to the Deep Roads to meet his death in combat.”

“Sounds delightful,” Varric muttered sarcastically next to Hawke.

The mage ran his fingers through his short black hair. “And every Grey Warden in Orlais is hearing that right now? They think they’re dying?”

Stroud nodded, “Yes. Likely because of Corypheus. He speaks with the voice of the Blight and we are tied to the Blight ourselves. He must’ve created this Calling somehow.” He stepped closer to the group. “If the Wardens fall, who will stop the next Blight? That is their biggest fear right now.”

Hawke shook his head with a grimace, “And so they do something desperate, which is exactly what Corypheus wants.”

As he listened, Nym had a different thought concerning him. He turned to Blackwall, “So you’ve been hearing this _Calling_ too?” His worried gaze then switched to Stroud, “Both of you?”

Stroud sighed, “Sadly, yes. It lurks like a wolf in the shadows around a campfire. I don’t know if this Calling is real, or a trick from Corypheus, but either way – the Grey Wardens believe it’s real and they will act accordingly.”

Blackwall only frowned, “I don’t fear the Calling. And worrying about it only gives it power. Anything Corypheus does will only strengthen my resolve.”

“Good man,” Stroud firmly nodded at him. “We must stop whatever Corypheus has planned. This cannot stand!”

Lavellan shook his head and paced across the room, “So the Wardens think they’re dying and they’ve become desperate. They aren’t thinking clearly.”

The Warden warrior gave a troubled expression, “The Wardens are the only ones who can slay an Archdemon. Without us, the next Blight will consume the world.” Pausing for a moment, he sighed as he resolved himself to lay out the whole truth, “Warden-Commander Clarel spoke of a blood magic ritual to prevent future Blights before we all perish. When I protested the plan as madness, my own comrades turned on me.”

“Blood magic! Marvelous. Because _that_ always ends well,” Hawke growled.

Stroud ignored his snide comment and moved towards the map spread across the table. “The Grey Wardens are gathering here, in the Western Approach. It is an ancient Tevinter ritual tower.”

“Is such a ritual even possible,” Nym asked.

The man shrugged, “I don’t know. But if blood magic is involved, we must stop them.”

“That, we can agree on,” Hawke muttered.

“Maybe it’s best if you come with us back to Skyhold? You’ll be safe there from the Wardens until we head out to the ritual site,” Lavellan suggested.

Stroud hummed in thought, then nodded. It was easy to see that was a wise solution. “Alright. We can discuss the details there.”

~…..~

They traveled back to Caer Bronach in silence, the only sounds coming from their mounts as their hooves splashed on the muddy ground.

After a while, the dwarven storyteller broke the quiet when he turned to Blackwall, “You sure you’re ok, Hero?”

“What do you mean?”

“What with all that shit about the Calling and crazy dreams, I mean,” the dwarf explained.

 The human furrowed his eyebrows as he scowled at the path in front of him. “I know what Corypheus is…he has no sway over me,” he reassured him.

Varric shrugged. “Alright. Just remember; if this Calling keeps bothering you or keeps you up at night, you can always come to me for a game of Diamondback or Wicked Grace to keep your mind off it.”

Blackwall chuckled, “Thank you, Varric. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Nym smiled as he heard the two talking behind him.

His attention was brought back when he heard Stroud’s voice beside him, “You have a good group.”

The elf smirked proudly, “I know. You’ll be able to meet all of them once we return to Skyhold.”

Next to Stroud, Hawke rode a Ferelden Forder. “Varric has always been like that – worrying, keeping an eye on his friends.”

Nymrodel snickered, about to respond, when his ears suddenly twitched, picking up on a suspicious sound off the road. _Perhaps it was just an animal, but-_ Before he could finish the thought, an arrow flew towards them. Blackwall raised his shied in response and the arrow burrowed into it with force.

“An ambush!” Nymrodel yelled, pulling onto his reins to calm Shara as the young Hart started fidgeting restlessly. Nym whispered into his ear to calm him, “Calm down, boy. It’s alright.” 

“Is it Highwaymen?!” Stroud shouted in question as he dismounted, taking out his shield and sword.

His eyes following the pathway of the arrows to find their source, Nym’s gaze stopped at the deep forest near the road. He jumped off of his mount and unsheathed his blades, deflecting a flying arrow aimed at his head. The rustling of the bushes intensified and a peculiar creature came out. It was no human, and it certainly didn’t sound like one as it gave out an icy screech. It had red lyrium growing all over its humped back, while its arms deformed into two cutting blades made of that same red stone. The monster suddenly disappeared.

“No. Red Templars,” the elf shouted a warning as the red templar warriors charged from the forest and towards the small group. In the shadows of the forest, hiding amongst the greenery, templar archers shot at them from cover.

Nym circled around them and jumped into the bushes, crouching low to avoid being noticed. He calmed his breathing until it was barely audible as he snuck through the bushes and towards the group of red templar archers. He was mindful of his every step; careful not to step on a twig or brush against a low branch that could compromise his position. Slowly, patiently, he inched closer towards them.

His clammy hands clutched tighter around the hilts of his weapons. He was almost within arm’s reach now, but the templars still didn’t notice him. Deciding it was close enough, he made his move. He cut into the ankle of the nearest archer, slicing through the boot and his tendon. With a shocked yelp, the man fell to the ground, only to be silenced by a dagger through the back of his neck. But the sound brought the others’ attention on them.

One archer aimed a nocked arrow at him and Nym quickly leaped to the side just as the arrow was set loose. The arrow whizzed through the air, but didn’t miss him completely. The tip lodged itself in his shoulder, making the elf stumble back from the impact. Yet he stayed focused, ignoring the pain and rushing forward instead. He stabbed the templar in the gut, ignoring the sharp “Urk!” the other grunted out, then ducked behind him to use him as a shield when the others let their arrows loose. The screaming man choked and coughed as he was riddled by numerous arrows piercing his stomach and lungs.

 

Meanwhile, Nym pulled the arrow from his shoulder, gritting his teeth from the burning ache it caused. Pushing the man off his weapon, he rushed forward, slicing a woman’s side as he passed her by, then swiftly turning around and finishing her off with a stab in the back. He quickly moved his center of gravity to the side, to dodge a sword that came at him from behind, before spinning with his two daggers and slashing the torso of the man who was now in front of him. The templar stumbled backwards, still alive and clutching his weapon. He swung his sword at Nymrodel again, but the other simply averted it with a block and let it slide to the side, off his short blade. His other dagger swiftly moved up, slashing the man’s neck in a flash.

As the last templar in the woods fell, Nym turned to head back to the road where he could still hear the sounds of fighting. He stopped mid-step when a chill traveled down his spine. _*Something’s wrong.*_ He jumped to the side and spun around, barely avoiding a red lyrium blade that came at him. Instead of stabbing him through the stomach as it was intended, the blade only nicked his hip, but it was enough to draw blood. He could only hope the red lyrium didn’t enter his system and infect him.  

The Inquisitor found himself eye-to-red eye with the horrible creature from before. It stared at him with those hollow glowing eyes that lost all humanity. The two were so close to each other, he could feel the mysterious warmth emitting from the red lyrium on its body. Its other blade horizontally slashed from the side, aiming to decapitate him.     

Ducking low, Nym avoided the bladed arm and slashed with both daggers towards its stomach. The Horror jumped back, terribly agile for its big, hunched form. He quickly hurled his throwing blades at it, but the red templar smashed them mid-air with its blade. Then, surprisingly, it stopped. Instead of attacking, the Horror slouched even more, its body shuddering violently as it writhed.

Blue eyes narrowed in confusion as he saw the red lyrium spikes on its humped back growing larger. Uncertain, the rogue stepped back, his every instinct telling him that something bad was coming; that he shouldn’t come close. So he pulled away, getting some cover from the nearby trees.

Confirming his suspicions, the red lyrium crystals on its back exploded, sending sharp shards in every direction. Nym gasped, realizing he had nowhere to dodge. Out of instinct, he moved his daggers in front of his face and neck, shielding his vitals with his forearms. But it didn’t shield him from feeling the hot sting of shards as they nicked at him, while a few of them pierced his legs. “Gah!” He yelled in sudden pain as a big crystal shard stuck into his left thigh, crippling his movement.

When the onslaught finally stopped, Nym was breathing hard, his wounded forearms trembling as he carefully lowered his blades back down. Looking at his leg, he saw a large red lyrium shard sticking out of the bleeding wound. “Fenedhis!” He cursed at the mess on his leg, along with the searing pain it brought, keeping his guard up in case the Horror decided to attack him again. With a tight jaw to prepare himself for the pain, he gripped at the large shard, ignoring the sting as the cutting edges dug into the skin, and pulled it out with a pained groan, “Guuh!” He could feel the wet blood on his palm where the shard cut him. Still panting from the ache, he glared at the Horror with spite in his eyes and tossed the red lyrium crystal to the side.

_*I can’t let it do that again, or I’m finished,*_ he concluded.

Thinking now’s his chance, he rushed at the creature, while the templar also leaped at him. Instead of clashing, he dodged at the last second and slid passed it, spinning around when he was behind its back. Using all his strength, he stabbed with both daggers into the hump on its back, drawing out an angry howl from the inhuman templar. As he pulled the weapons out, he saw blood seeping from the wounds and it gave him a small comfort – as monstrous as it was, it still bled just like anyone else.

He evaded another attack of the bladed arm, then jumped in a roll to avoid a stab towards him. The blade pierced the ground, and for a moment, Nym wished he was stronger so he could stomp into the blade while it was stuck and break it in half. Iron Bull could probably do it without problem. But not an elven rogue like him.

 That didn’t mean he was powerless, though. The idea he got was risky, but it was now or never. The Horror was still trying to get its arm out of the ground, when Nym jumped towards it. He prayed it doesn’t pull it out in time or he’d be a skewered elf. Luckily, his fast legs, even injured as they were, made it in time. As soon as he appeared before the templar and it noticed him, it growled and swung with the other arm. Dodging, he stepped even closer to the monster. What it didn’t notice was a swift dagger coming from below. Not until his blade stabbed into the creature’s chin and up through its head, as far as Nym’s swing could take it.

Its bladed arm came out of the ground, and it swung with both weapons at him, in one final attempt to kill him, but he was already leaping backwards. Every time he used his left leg, he gritted his teeth and endured the shocking pain that shot through his thigh. The red templar stumbled from its own attack, still bleeding profoundly from its wound. The blood seeped down its throat and chest, dripping on the already stained ground where blood and mud mixed into dark, pasty dirt. Finally, it lost its balance and toppled onto the ground, letting out final soft screeches before it perished.

For one moment longer, Nym stayed there, tense and staring at the creature in case it suddenly jumps up and attacks again. Only when he managed to mentally persuade himself it wouldn’t happen, did he dare relax with an exhausted sigh, sheathing back his daggers. Tired, aching and bleeding, he switched his weight on his right, uninjured, leg and limped out of the forest, trying to mind his left thigh all the while. Brushing a few branches to the side, he focused on the road. There was a cloud of dust from the frightened mounts that ran to the side when the fighting started. Through the dust, scorched ground and ice spikes left by Hawke’s magic, Nym could see dead templar bodies lying about. Fortunately, the Inquisition group was alive and safe, albeit a bit battered. He gave a small smile of relief.

A loud neigh brought their attention to the Red Hart as Shara trotted over to him. The animal came close, intelligence clear in its eyes as it watched Nym’s hurt leg. It let the elf lean against its body and he draped an arm over its back, holding onto it. “Ma serannas, falon,” he smiled in gratitude at the animal, giving it a quick scratch behind the ear. Slowly, Shara guided him back to the others, helping him lean on it as he walked.   

“Maker! What happened to you?” Hawke called out, jogging towards the elf.

The others looked a bit worse for wear, but no one was deadly injured. Hawke healed Nym’s wounds, while the others gulped down their healing potions.

“I met one of those new red templar atrocities,” the elf retorted.

Varric shook his head in disgust. “It’s like they have a never-ending cesspool of red lyrium crap that just gives birth to new mutated horrors.”

“I’m almost afraid to imagine what else might come out of it when combined with red lyrium,” Hawke muttered.

“I didn’t think their army could get any worse after we saw that templar Behemoth, but now I wonder,” Blackwall added. “I should’ve known it can _always_ be worse.”

“And apparently we have General Samson to thank for it all,” the Inquisitor snarled. He felt his pain disappear as the healing potion, together with Hawke’s magic, started to take effect. He carefully shifted his weight onto his left leg, trying it out. It still hurt and his expression contorted into a grimace, but it was a numb pain now. It was bearable, and most importantly, the bleeding stopped. Happy with the results, he hopped back on his mount. “Let’s go. We still have at least an hour to Caer Bronach. Let’s not wait for their reinforcements.” His anxious gaze traveled to the dead templar bodies, as if worried they might still be alive and waiting to pounce.

~…..~

After they regrouped with the others at the Keep, the Inquisition decided to travel back to Skyhold together with Warden Stroud. It took them almost a week, and the group soon separated after arriving at the fortress.

Nym and Varric walked over to Cassandra, who met them at the courtyard, eager to hear their progress. They reported back about Stroud and the trouble with the Grey Wardens. The more Nym talked, the darker her firm expression became.

“Blood magic? What are they thinking!? I always thought the Wardens had too little oversight,” the Seeker scowled in anger.

 “Apparently they’re all shitting their pants now that they think they’re dying,” Varric sighed.

The warrior woman looked around the courtyard in interest, “And the Champion? Did he also come back with you?”

A slow grin spread across the dwarf’s face as he and Nym exchanged glances.

“You really admire him, huh?” Nym stated, rather than asked.

“More like she has a secret crush on him,” Varric joined in, that sly grin still present.

The woman was taken aback and loudly protested, suddenly flustered. “I do _not_ have a crush on Hawke!”

“Oh, so we’re just calling him ‘Hawke’ now? Not the Champion,” Nym teased her with a foxy look.

His dwarven friend laughed, watching Cassandra fume. “Give it up, Seeker. Hawke is already spoken for and Fenris doesn’t share. That’s one elf you don’t want to piss off.” He noticed a dejected look from Nymrodel and corrected himself with a sigh, “Ok, one of _two_ elves.” Instantly, Nym’s face lit up again, making Varric chuckle.

“Ugh,” Cassandra just made a disgusted noise. She was back to her old self.

A loud laugh brought their attention towards a tall building in the courtyard. Before Nym’s departure, it was still in ruins, the workers rebuilding it tirelessly. Now it looked completely finished. The one laughing near the entrance was the Iron Bull who spoke to Scout Harding and Cremisius. So the Chargers were back.

“What is he so cheerful about?” Cassandra tilted her head in question, her suspicion scowl returning her lips.

“If I’d have to guess; it’s either because the Chargers are back or cause they finally finished rebuilding the tavern,” the dwarf answered.

“That’s the new tavern?” Nym eyed the large building that was at least two stories high.

“Yes. They named it The Herald’s rest,” the woman explained.

Varric and Nym both stared at her blankly, until the dwarf burst out laughing. In contrast, the elf looked like he was ready to fall into the ground and stay there for all eternity.

“You’re joking!?” The dwarf still laughed.

“Yes. Please tell me you’re joking,” the Herald sounded in pain.

“She is not joking.” Suddenly Cole spoke beside them, appearing out of thin air next to them. The trio all shouted, startled by the sudden appearance.

“Nym, tell it to _stop_ doing that!” Cassandra was regaining her breath.

“I’m pretty sure Cole’s a _he_ , and I think I did already,” Nym rubbed the back of his neck with a frown.

Varric sighed, turning to the spirit boy. “Kid, you gotta stop appearing like that.”

“But I didn’t appear. I was here the whole time,” the young blonde countered.

The trio stared at him in silence. “So you can just stand next to someone the whole time without them noticing you? Well that’s…a bit worrisome,” Lavellan muttered, trying to stay diplomatic about it even though he was slightly freaked out by that notion.

“And Varric was right about the Iron Bull,” Cole continued, as if not registering Nym’s words. “He is happy when the Chargers are here. And he is happy when he can drink.” Then he turned to the elf who was gazing at the large Qunari teasing Krem about something while grinning cheerfully. “And you’re happy when you see _his_ happiness,” the blonde realized.

Nym almost chocked on air when he heard Cole, his big eyes as wide as they could be, like a deer caught in a trap by a Dalish hunter. “W-what? No, I was just thinking it was good that the Chargers are back, that’s all!” He shouted in defense, but he could feel the betraying heat rising to his cheeks.

Cole tilted his head in curiosity, while Varric just stared at the elf with his piercing, writer’s eyes. There was already a story brewing inside his mind; Nym was certain of that. Cassandra just frowned in confusion.

“Hey, why don’t we join them for a drink,” Varric suggested after a while. 

Trying to shake off his startled discomposure, the Inquisitor cleared his throat. Now he knew how Cassandra felt just a moment before – he supposed that was a fine example of karma. A drink sounded deliciously inviting, but disappointedly, he remembered he still had to attend a War Council meeting and then train with Heir afterwards. “You go on ahead, I’ll come later. There is still some work I need to attend to.”

“Heh. Makes me feel glad that I’m not anyone important in the Inquisition,” the dwarf smirked.

“What are you talking about; who else would spin us tales and teach me Wicked Grace,” Lavellan exclaimed in dramatic seriousness, but then playfully winked at his friend.

“I like Varric’s stories,” Cole added.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Yes. What would we possibly do without you, dwarf? Oh right, perhaps we would have Hawke’s help sooner,” she snidely added, still not quite over that mishap.

The roguish dwarf sighed, “You’re never going to let that go, are you Seeker?” He even volunteered to go to Crestwood with Nym, to give Cassandra some well-needed time to cool off and have some distance.

“I am not a child Varric, don’t tell me my anger is without cause,” she bit back in irate, already glaring at him with those dark brown eyes.

_*And just a moment ago she was almost cute, the way she was all flustered,*_ Varric bitterly noted, but was smart enough to keep that thought to himself. She would probably bash him into the ground if she heard that.

~……~

Nym hid his presence as he silently snuck towards his assassin trainer. He could see the Dalish woman just around the corner, standing next to merchant stalls.

It was part of their training, trying to sneak up on the target and attack at the very last second.

He followed her for the longest time, waiting for his opportune moment. Whenever it looked like she was on to him, he would disappear back into the shadows, afraid to lose his chance. The game went on until he became one with his surroundings. Using crowds of people around Skyhold, passages that she didn’t know about, climbing walls or sneaking through the shrubbery – all so he could stay unnoticed for this one moment.

She told him she would wait, no matter how long it takes. That he can strike whenever, no matter the circumstances. She was buying something from Bonny and it looked like she momentarily lowered her guard. Now was his best chance to act.

Sneaking around the corner, he leaped, thinking he was close enough. Only for Heir to sidestep and dodge his attack. She grabbed at his stabbing wrist that held the dagger and tripped his leg at the same time, slamming him face-first into the ground.

Nym groaned, absentmindedly wondering if his nose was broken. He rolled to his back, realizing how complete his failure was. He was naïve. Heir didn’t lower her guard, she was just pretending, luring him into a trap so he would act when _she_ wanted him to. She was ready for him the whole time. 

“He almost got close enough this time,” she commented – probably closest to a compliment he has ever received from her. She offered him her hand and pulled him up when he took it, the world spinning around him as he was lifted from the ground and back to his feet. “Again,” she ordered.

~…..~

Varric and Sera were laughing way too hard at his miserable disposition. Nym was sitting at a table in the Herald’s rest – the name that still didn’t sit right with him – leaned back on his chair and holding a chunk of ice on his eye. The ice was graciously made for him by Vivienne, as even Madame de Fer felt sorry for him after seeing his beaten demeanor, while the forming black-eye was curtesy of Heir.

“She got you good, Snow,” Varric commented between chuckles.

“Haha! Yer ice’s melting,” Sera snickered.

The ice was slowly dissolving, droplets falling down his hand and cheek, cooling the rest of his throbbing face. “Thanks for the notice,” the elf grumbled with a sour expression. He wondered if there will ever come a day when he will be able to best his Dalish trainer.

“What are you even doing here so early? I thought you’d still have stuff to do,” the dwarf asked.

Nym sighed in exhaustion, his scowl deepening more if it was possible. “I’m hiding from Josephine,” he finally admitted.

Sera laughed, “What, is Missy Fancypants drillin’ you with noble bull again?”

“Something like that. She wants me to meet an endless sea of nobles. It’s always such a pain…The last time I met some group of nobles from Orlais, one of them gasped and fainted when they saw me.”

“Oooh, so you made the lady swoon! Good for you,” Varric patted him on the shoulder.

“It was a man,” Nym deadpanned with a grim expression.

The pair glanced at each other again, then burst into another fit of laughter.

Nymrodel was slowly sinking deeper into despair. His expression was as glum as it could be and the two rogues laughing at him didn’t help matters. “Not that I can meet the nobility with this black eye anyway,” he mumbled. He would say it meant that every cloud had a silver lining, but it didn’t feel like so at the moment.

Their laughter was overpowered by another’s and the trio looked up to see Bull at the bar, holding a drink in one hand and flirting with the servant girls. The Chargers were gathered around him, but he easily towered over all of them with his two meters and horns raised high up. His whole presence was so imposing, so bright, it felt like he owned the room by just standing in it.

“Shite, he’s big. Can you imagine what their women look like,” Sera started, a dreamy grin slowly spreading across her features. “They must be soooo big an’ just….,” she giggled excitedly without finishing.

Nym gave a small smile in the Qunari’s direction as he watched him start a drinking contest with one of the dwarfs. “He _is_ pretty cool, isn’t he?”

Varric looked at his friend and blinked when he saw a quaint twinkle in the elf’s bright eyes, like he was marveling the large man. He remembered Cole’s words about Nym and Bull from earlier. The dwarf gave him a wry grin. “Oooh, what’s this? Is there a romance brewing?”

Lavellan flushed, suddenly defensive as he turned his gaze back to Varric. “What!? No! No such thing! I-I just meant that he’s a pretty cool guy. I mean, he always knows what to say to encourage people, and he’s fearless…” He started rambling as he tried to explain himself.

Yet the more he talked, the wider Varric’s grin grew. _*Maybe Snow doesn’t realize it himself, yet,*_ the dwarf wondered.   

Sera laughed, “Wha, Quizzy an’ Bull? How’d that even work? He’d skewer you, haha!”

“I’m telling you it’s not like that,” the elf yelled, his voice growing louder as he became desperate to defend himself. “Would you two just get your minds out of the gutter, please!?”

His voice must’ve carried because a few curious heads turned their way, Bull’s being one of them. After he easily beat the dwarf in their drinking contest, the Qunari walked over to Nym and the duo, still holding a newly-filled tankard in his massive hand.

“Hey, Boss! So, the Chargers are back from their mission and I was thinkin’, now’s a good chance for you to properly meet some of the guys,” he gave a wide smile, gesturing with his head towards another table where Krem and some of the other mercenaries were sitting at.

Nym looked at the small piece of ice that hadn’t melted yet and nodded with a smile. Leaving the ice chip on the table, he stood up. “Sure, lead the way.”

“You just leavin’ us? Traitor!” Sera yelled at his back.

He turned in his stride and stuck out his tongue at her. “You two would just laugh at me the whole time, anyway.” Ignoring Sera’s curses and Varric’s laughter behind his back, he followed Bull to the Chargers’ table.

“Your Worship!” Krem greeted cheerfully.  “Whoa, that’s one nasty black-eye you got there,” he exclaimed as soon as he took a closer look at Nymrodel’s face in the dim tavern torchlight.

Reflexively, Nym’s fingers went to feel the eye, only to flinch in pain and regret it as he touched the swollen cheekbone. He didn’t want to tell them he had a run-in with the ground. “Yeah…training with Heir,” he explained vaguely, hoping they wouldn’t ask for any embarrassing details. Sitting down, he looked around the table as their captain introduced everyone.

“So we’ve got Dalish, Rocky, Skinner, Grim, Stiches and of course you already know Krem. A lot of ‘em went looking for stronger drinks.” Bull put a pint in front of Nym and sat down next to the elf. He smirked at his Lieutenant, “How ya doing, Crème de la crème?”

Krem sighed, his tanned face making an exasperated expression – one that told Nym he heard that joke a thousand times already. “He’s just been waiting to hit someone new with that joke,” he told the elf.

Lavellan shrugged, “I can think of worst places to go with _Cremisius_.”

“So can the Chief, believe me,” Krem retorted while rolling his eyes, but there was a small smile on his face. “He loves his nicknames.”

“Hey, when I was growing up, my name was just this series of numbers. We all give each other nicknames under the Qun.”

“They ever wear shirts under the Qun, Chief? Or do they just run around binding their breasts like that?” Aclassi smirked, messing with his captain.

Bull narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t look genuinely angered. “It’s a _harness_ , Krem.”

“Yes, for your pillowy man-bosoms,” the Lieutenant grinned.

Nym couldn’t help but snicker at the pair’s banter, trying to keep down his laughter.

“Let me know if you need help binding. You could really chisel something out of that overstuffed look.”

Lavellan blinked, taking a moment for Krem’s words to sink in and make sense. He didn’t know until now. He didn’t even suspect. “Oh…Oh! You’re a woman?” He couldn’t help but exclaim in bafflement, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

Cremisius gave him an even more exasperated expression than when listening to Bull’s joke. “You didn’t know? Well great, now we can all talk about it,” he commented sarcastically, obviously not wanting to enter that discussion. It made Nym squirm guiltily, feeling he overstepped some line he shouldn’t have with his words. Obviously, it was a touchy subject for Krem.

Bull answered for him, “In Qunandar, Krem would be an Aqun-athlok. That’s what we call someone born one gender but living like another.”

Nym had never met someone like that before. There were no such elves in his Clan, so he was a little stumped for words.

“And Qunari don’t treat those…Aqun people any differently than a real man,” Krem asked carefully.

“They _are_ real men,” Bull corrected him. “Just like you are.”

Krem smiled and hummed, “Maybe your people aren’t so bad, after all.”

Nymrodel also smiled as he observed them in silence. He didn’t really see anything wrong with Krem being a woman, but wanting to live as a man. At the end of the day, he was loyal, brave and always had the others’ backs. He trusted the Lieutenant, and knew he could handle himself in battle – that was what mattered for a soldier.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Krem. We still come down hard on the back talk,” Bull interrupted his thoughts as he warned his Lieutenant, who just smirked in response.

The Qunari smiled back at the elf, “They’re all a crazy bunch of assholes, but they’re mine.”

Nym laughed, then looked at the colorful group. Everyone from dwarfs, to humans and elves, were present. Bull chose them for their skills, not race – and Nymrodel respected that. “So Rocky, you’re the sapper, right? I heard you blew up a mountain pass and buried a red templar unit beneath a ton of rubble. That was some precise explosive use.”

Smiling with pride, the dwarf nodded. “Yeah, that’s kind of my specialty. I got exiled from Orzammar…for stupid noble crap. Oh, and I accidentally blew up a bit of the Sheperate,” he shrugged. “So I joined up with the Chargers.”

 “Rocky’s one of our best sappers,” Bull told Nym. “He can take down enemy fortifications faster than a golem.”

“I’m also working on my own version of Qunari blackpowder,” the dwarf pointed out, gulping from his tankard before continuing. “I’ve almost got it!”

“Yeah…You really don’t,” the Qunari shook his head.

Nym snickered at them, before turning his attention to Dalish. She was currently in the middle of an intense chess game with Stiches. He never had a proper conversation with the elven woman, despite them fighting alongside each other. Since they met, he kept wondering why a Dalish mage wasn’t with her Clan, perhaps training to become the next Keeper. “What about you, Dalish? Why aren’t you with your Clan?”

The blonde smirked. “Our Keeper thought I should see the world a little,” she shrugged. That retort sounded evasive at best, rather than a proper answer, but Nym didn’t press the issue.     

“I’m sure you already know Dalish can’t have too many mages in one clan,” the Qunari explained.

Minaeve’s story flashed through Nym’s mind and he shifted uncomfortably. He remembered how she told him her clan left her all alone when she was a girl because she manifested talent for magic, and wondered if Dalish had a similar experience.

“Now ser, you know I’m not a mage. That would make me an apostate,” she exclaimed at her captain, innocently fluttering those big blue eyes.

“You carry a staff, Dalish,” Bull reminded her.

“It’s a _bow_ ,” she continued her farce. Leaned on the wall behind her was a large carved staff that had a form of a longbow, with a glowing crystal on top that had the same hue as her eyes.

“A bow with a giant glowing crystal at the tip,” Krem asked, not buying any of it.

“Yes. It’s for aiming. Old elven trick. You wouldn’t understand,” she answered, then glanced at Nym, “Right?”

Suddenly all eyes were on him, right when he was in the middle of taking a gulp of his ale. “Uhh, yeah, sure. We use giant glowing crystals all the time…Really helps with the hunt, too. Makes it easier to see at night.”

“Boss…you’re terrible at lying, you know that?” Bull asked as he chuckled.

“Shut up,” Lavellan muttered with a smile, and the Chargers snickered at them.

“I always wondered what was with those tattoos your people have,” Rocky asked the two elves, pointing at his own face. Dwarfs had their own tattoos they often inked on their faces, but they were mostly meat for Silent Sisters or the Legion.

“The Vallaslin?” Nym asked, then gave Dalish an uncertain glance. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to talk about it. Usually, it wasn’t common practice for Dalish to share their ways with outsiders. That was why Keeper Gisharel of the Ralaferin Clan was seen as an outcast and the Ralaferin clan was disrespected by some of the other Clans - because their Keeper shared Dalish lore and culture with shemlen. 

The mage simply gave him an uncaring shrug as a response, silently telling him it was his choice. Nym thought about it. In his mind, Gisharel’s wish to connect the Dalish and the rest of the world through understanding of one another, wasn’t misguided. And he didn’t really see any harm in telling the Chargers about at least the meaning of the Vallaslin.

“It is to honor our gods, but it is not only that. It is a ritual, a passing into adulthood. You have to earn your Vallaslin. When you do, it is a sign that you have the right to stand with your fellow Dalish as a proud equal in all things. That you are truly an adult of the clan. We usually do this rite of passage when we turn 18 years of age,” he explained.

“Usually?” Skinner asked.

He shrugged. “Sometimes the elf is not ready to receive their Vallaslin at that age. Occasionally it takes more time for them to mature. There is nothing wrong with that. We do not disrespect or disparage those who don’t have their Vallaslin yet, no matter how old they are. It just means their time hasn’t come yet.”

“In theory, at least,” Dalish added.

“And in reality?”

“Well it is known to happen that an elf who doesn’t have his Vallaslin, but has turned 18, is a possible target for bullying. Sometimes the others pick on them. But it almost never happens in our Clan, because our Keeper is very strict on such matters. She’s kind, but ruthless when it comes to rooting out any mistreatment or inequality in the Clan,” he smiled at Desha’s memory. Just thinking about her made him miss her, as well as the others. He was starting to get nostalgic from all this talk about Clan Lavellan.

“Heh. She sounds a bit like my Tama,” Bull gave a nostalgic smile.

“Tama?” Nym tilted his head in question.

“Yeah, our Tamassrans. They’re terrifying…and inspiring. They teach you everything you need to know. Give your life purpose,” he explained with a grin. There was a distant light in his eye as he remembered his childhood, making his expression appear gentler than usual.

“Yep, that sounds a lot like Keeper Desha,” Nym chuckled. “Especially the “terrifying, but inspiring” part,” he gulped.

“Seems like you have a good Keeper,” Dalish smiled, but there was sadness in her bright eyes.

“Sorry,” Nym cleared his throat, suddenly feeling awkward. A sense of guilt gripped his heart. _*Idiot! Why are you talking so much about your Clan when Dalish obviously has bad experiences with that,*_ he chastised himself.  

The mage sighed, “Don’t be. Look…” She stood up and walked over to him, then placed a gentle hand on his wounded eye. When a white light glowed out of her palm, he instantly closed his eyes, enjoying the warm healing power that emitted from her hand. She started her story. “I wasn’t chosen to be the Keeper’s First, but I remained in training like all mages. However, as time passed, new children with the gift of magic were born, and as you know the Clan can’t have too many mages lest they risk possession. So when I was old enough, we agreed it was best I leave the Clan and find my own fortune in the world.”

Nym’s mouth moved into a dubious frown, “ _We_?”

The apostate smiled sadly again, “What do you want me to say? I wasn’t ecstatic by the decision, but it’s better than what some other Clans do; like leaving the child near some shem village or separating them from their parents and giving them to another Clan. This way the little ones could stay in the Clan, at least. It was for the best.”

Nym remembered Minaeve’s story about her Clan again – they left her alone in the woods, to fend for herself, even though she was a little girl. Compared to that, the choice Dalish’s clan made wasn’t as cruel at least. He sighed, “I suppose you’re right.” He could also guess why she only called herself ‘Dalish.’ She probably didn’t want to involve her clan’s name in her mercenary business; the less shems knew about them, the better.

As she lifted her palm from his face, Nym soon realized all pain was gone. He poked at the flesh that was swollen just moments before, yet the swelling around his eye and nose completely vanished. He beamed, suddenly feeling rejuvenated, “Ma serannas!”

“What was that about you not being a mage?” Skinner asked her friend sarcastically.

“Oh shush. I obviously just gave him some elfroot salve,” the mage shrugged, that mischievous glint back in her eyes.

The Chargers laughed again, breaking the slightly somber atmosphere that started creeping over them with Dalish’s story. “Hey, it’s your clan’s loss and our gain, Dalish.” Bull nodded at her as she returned back to her seat, giving him a quick grateful smile.

Skinner’s retort brought Nym’s attention to her. “What about you Skinner? How did you join the Chargers?”

The Orlesian elf deadpanned, “Killed some people.”

“Well that escalated quickly,” Nym muttered as he stared at her.

Their Captain chuckled, “Skinner didn’t take kindly to nobles testing their new swords on the elves in her alienage.”

Lavellan stiffened. He remembered the Val Royeaux alienage and Zatvel; _“The Chevaliers come in the dead of night to test their blades on any poor soul in our alienage that they come across,_ ” he had said. Obviously that practice wasn’t exclusive for Val Royeaux. “That’s horrible,” he muttered, his fingers clutching the fabric of his pants.

“Bull took me in. Now I get paid to kill shems,” the woman shrugged, a satisfied smile on her face.

Nym huffed, closing his eyes for a while. “Can’t say I feel sorry for them,” he admitted.

“This is actually really good behavior for her. She’s not marking her territory or anything,” the Qunari half-joked.

“Hey, give it time. The night’s still young,” Rocky laughed, and Skinner cast him an annoyed glare.

Nym shook his head as he laughed. “What about you Stiches? I take it you’re the company healer?”

Stiches nodded. “Yes. First time I ever picked up a sword was when the Blight hit Ferelden. Never put it back down,” he explained.

“He makes a potion that will put you right back on your feet after even the toughest fight. It tastes terrible, though,” Bull added.

The dark-skinned man sighed. “That’s because it’s a poultice, ser. You’re not supposed to drink it.”

The group snickered again and Lavellan turned his attention to the last in their group. The blonde, brawny man sitting on the floor and leaning against the table. “And you are Grim, no? I’ve seen you wield a broadsword effortlessly in the fight against the Avvar, like it was made of cardboard. That was impressive.”

The blonde grunted, nodding to the Inquisitor.

“Grim doesn’t talk much,” Iron Bull started, then looked back at Lavellan. “I’m pretty sure he’s a lost king of some small country. Or a chieftain. Something like that.”

That’s when the elf realized; he saw the man fight before, but he never actually heard him speak. He wondered if he was even able to.

Grim grunted again, giving another nod to the elf. Nym couldn’t tell whether it was a greeting or was he just agreeing with Bull’s words. On the other hand, it seemed the others had no problem understanding him.

Inquisitor looked over the versatile group and gave a bright smile. “You have a fine company, Bull.” The Chargers smiled proudly at the praise.

“Ah! We do alright,” the man smirked, but there was a gleam of pride in his eye as well. “Besides, when you’re in Orlais and you look like me, you can’t be picky about who you take in. A lot of ‘em got turned away by other companies that didn’t want a knife-ear or a crazy dwarf,” he started, and an offended “Hey!” came from Rocky at their side. “Their loss. You get my back in a fight and carry your own weight, you’re good with me,” the Qunari explained, and by the look he was giving him, Nym knew that was directed at him too.  

“And we are one of the rare ones who will put up with his bullshit,” their Lieutenant added, jabbing at his captain.

“How did you start your company in the first place?”

Bull laughed at the memory. “I spent a year or two working for Fisher’s Bleeders, but their captain was crap. Figured I could do better,” he shrugged. “The best folks in the Bleeders agreed with me, so we split off.”

Nym raised one eyebrow, “I imagine Fisher wasn’t too thrilled about that.”

Bull grunted in an amused chuckle, “He came at me. I snapped his sword in half, and we talked things out over drinks. Krem here, is one of the first guys I recruited, other than those who followed me,” he gestured at the Tevinter.

“Yeah…the Chief saved my life from some Tevinter soldiers. Bastards tried to finish me off when Chief ran between me and the blade. Lost an eye in the process,” Cremisius spoke a bit softer now, the memory still raw in his mind.

“Hey, I got a good Lieutenant for that eye, so I’d say it’s a fair trade,” the Qunari retorted.

Never hearing the story of how Bull lost his eye before, Nym was floored. _*So he saved a person he didn’t even know and lost an eye for it…and he doesn’t sound regretful in the slightest about it.*_ A new feeling arose in the elf’s chest, almost overwhelming with its intensity. He decided it must be admiration, because his head was full of it at the moment.  

Rocky raised his tankard in the air and shouted, “Horns up!” jolting the Inquisitor out of his astonished daze. The other Chargers did the same, shouting loudly, “Horns up!” and gulping down their ale. Nym followed suit.

The sapper dwarf started a song – the Bull’s Chargers’ anthem. Soon, the rest of the mercenaries joined him, singing joyfully. “No man can beat the Chargers, cause we’ll hit you where it hurts! Unless you know a tavern with loose cards and looser skirts! For every bloody battlefield, we’ll gladly raise a cup. No matter what tomorrow holds, our horns be pointing up!”

Nym laughed together with them, listening to the song and enjoying the cheerful atmosphere these guys always seem to bring with them.

Their Qunari leader turned to him while his men sang. “Thanks for coming by, Boss. Glad you could meet some of _my_ team.”

The Inquisitor flashed him a wide smile and nodded, “Me too.”

~…..~

_*Hic*_

Nym hiccupped as he exited the tavern, shivering as the sudden cold air hit him. He had a wide grin on his gentle features, still humming the Chargers’ song that just wouldn’t leave his mind. By the end of the night, he joined them in singing it, and so did most of the Tavern.

He slowly walked towards the castle, heading for his quarters to end the long day. Exhausted, he was sure he would fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Hopefully, his tipsy state would also mean no weird dreams this night.

He dragged his tired feet up the numerous stairs of the fortress, wondering did it always take such a long climb to reach the throne hall. He swayed lightly, whether from alcohol or exhaustion, he couldn’t tell. Finally, he reached the hall, which was mostly abandoned at this time of night. Probably for the best that no one sees the Inquisitor in a tipsy state as he tries to walk a straight line.

Making his way towards the chamber leading to his quarters, one of the other doors slammed open and in came one of Josephine’s employees, startling him with the loud noise.

“Your worship,” the errand girl called out. She was a young thing; an elven girl with long brown hair and light freckles. For a moment, she reminded Nym’s hazy mind of Athelle and his heart ached like it was suddenly torn. He swallowed his spit, pushing down his anguished feelings as if trying to swallow them too, but he couldn’t get rid of the bitter aftertaste in his mouth.  

The girl ran up to him and handed him a piece of paper – a letter. “This letter came for you, Inquisitor. Lady Montilyet told me to give it to you straight away!”

Nymrodel furrowed his eyebrows in interest, his mind slowly focusing again. It was unusual for Josephine to be in such a hurry unless it was something dire. He took the letter and opened it with impatience, instantly noticing Keeper Deshanna’s handwriting.

_Da'len,_

_I would not trouble you normally. You have enough on your shoulders, fighting ancient Tevinter magisters while representing your people. Unfortunately, the rifts that plague this land have spread chaos and fear along with them, and many seek to take advantage of it._

_Bandits are attacking Clan Lavellan. The raiders are well armed and heavily armored, and they come in numbers our hunters cannot match. We had settled in a small unclaimed valley not far from Wycome, a safe place with few rifts—but these bandits may force us to seek a new home. If your Inquisition can help, you might save our clan much hardship._

_Dareth shiral,_

_Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellan_

Nymrodel instantly sobered up as soon as he finished the letter. His mind was racing now, and so was his heart. All color drained from his already pale face, the new tone almost matching his ghostly white hair. _*Someone is attacking my Clan. Why? Is it revenge because of me?*_ The thought that he could be somehow responsible for his Clan’s misfortune made him sick to his stomach. All of Inquisition’s enemies came to mind; Corypheus, the red templars, Venatori, the Chantry, some nobles that he offended with his actions…Even though the Inquisition gathered more influence and prestige every day, it wasn’t just allies that they gathered in large numbers, but also enemies.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his panicked mind. _*Calm down and think. What you need to do next is-*_ He gazed up at the errand girl who was still waiting in front of him. She flinched as if expecting his orders as soon as their eyes met. “I need you call on Lady Montilyet, Commander Cullen and Sister Nightingale, and tell them to meet me in the War Room. Run quickly!”

“Y-yes, ser!” The girl ran off, slamming the doors behind her.

Nym took quick strides towards the War room. He knew everyone will be in their beds by now, but this couldn’t wait until morning. If his Clan was in danger, he needed to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible.

~…..~

“The Duke of Wycome is an Inquisition ally. It is odd for him to let bandits so close to his city. Perhaps if we ask for his assistance, he could help the Dalish,” Josephine suggested as Nymrodel and his advisors stood gathered around the War table.

“That might be too late. Besides, from the letter, it seems we are dealing with something different than mere bandits. No simple bandits would attack a Dalish camp with such force. My troops can give the Dalish much-needed support, and I will have them ready immediately,” their Commander suggested.

Nym was uncharacteristically quiet while his advisors argued. Finally, he cut them off with a murmur, as if he didn’t even notice they were speaking, “I should be there.”

The advisors all fell silent, watching him quizzically. Only now as the room suddenly fell quiet, did they notice the tense darkness that enveloped them in the night. A couple of candles lit their forms, casting flickering shadows cross the cold stone walls.

The elf jerked his head up and looked at them with a firm, determined stare. “I should be there to help. I should personally go there and take care of this!”

“That is impossible. You have too much to keep under control here to just up and leave. Are you forgetting you need to go deal with the missing Grey Wardens with Ser Stroud,” Leliana calmly reminded him.

“But this could all be because of me! The attack on Clan Lavellan, _my_ clan, can’t be just a coincidence! If those are my enemies going after my people, I need to do something,” Lavellan all but shouted, slamming a fist onto the War table. A few markers fell down and rolled onto the floor, but he barely registered it. All he knew was that his clan was in danger and he wasn’t there to protect them.

 “And you _will_ do something. The _Inquisition_ will. But you traveling there wouldn’t make a difference. We need to act faster than that,” their Spymaster warned.

He girt his teeth, but knew Leliana was right. By the time he got there, the next attack on clan Lavellan might already happen. Still, knowing that didn’t make it any easier...any less painful. “So what do you propose we do?”

“I have agents in Wycome. I can send word to them to help your clan. My skirmishers can harass the attackers’ flanks and give the Dalish a chance to retreat safely while I uncover the truth. As Cullen said, this is more than just a simple bandit attack. We must find out what.”

Nym watched her for a long time before he finally reached a decision. Nodding to her, he managed to squeeze the words out through his tense jaw, “Do it.”

~……~

That night his dreams were restless and wild. It made him wish that they were replaced by the strange, but exciting dream he had before – of those gentle hands.

Instead, he dreamt of the flames consuming Haven. Of the suffocating smell of smoke and burnt flesh that scorched his lungs and choked him. He saw Athelle’s pleading face of horror and heard the screams of many others who were either cut down by the enemy or burnt alive, trapped beneath Haven’s rubble.

The snow he stood on was red with blood, the ground around him littered with corpses. He saw a figure in the distance. Tall and ominous, slowly creeping closer.

_Corypheus._

He couldn’t see him very well form the smoke, but he knew it was him.

The figure approached slowly, dangerously, pointing at him with one clawed finger.

Nym blinked and gasped. All of a sudden, it wasn’t those human brown eyes piercing him, but large green ones. The figure standing before him, suddenly disturbingly close, was an elf with long black hair and smiling green eyes.

“ _Father_ ,” Nym wanted to shout, but no voice came out of him.

He looked around and realized he wasn’t standing on snow anymore. Instead, there was wet grass beneath his bare feet. Haven was replaced by a forest, but the fires were still raging all around him, surrounding him and blocking his escape. Trees were on fire, the flames rising into the sky and painting it a dark orange. And not just trees. Elven aravels were burning all around him. The bodies lying on the ground were all elven now – Dalish. His Clan.

With a long gasp, Nym awoke in his bed. Trying to catch his breath and recall where he was, cold sweat gleaming on his bare torso. For just a moment he thought he could still smell the scent of smoke and feel the heat of flames on his skin. But in the next moment it was all gone, and he was left enveloped in the cold darkness. The elf shivered, suddenly feeling very alone.

Pulling his knees close to his chest and hugging them, he rested his damp forehead on his knees and closed his eyes. He was trying to calm down and forget his nightmare, but it was still clear in his mind’s eye.

“I won’t let it happen again. I _won’t_ ,” he murmured into the dark, but as expected, got no answer from it.

* * *

 

Glossary:

_Ma serannas, falon_ – Thank you, friend

Fenedhis - Fuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, meeting the Chargers is one of my favorite scenes in the game. :’) And yes, that was a Cheers reference from Varric. :D I think originally Isabela says it in DA2. Also, the trouble with Clan Lavellan starts! :O
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you liked this chapter.


	18. In Death, Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: NSFW sexual content around the end of the chapter!

 

Sand.

Damn sand was everywhere. It got into his boots, pants, even in his one good eye every time a slight breeze blew. If he had hair, he was sure it would get in there too. 

And the only thing worse than this sand, was the blazing hot sun that was burning down on his exposed head and chest.

The Iron Bull continued to grumble as he wiped the sweat forming on his brow. Ever since they reached the Western Approach, they’ve been either cooking in their clothes under the desert sun or shivering in the desert cold nights when the temperature would suddenly drop. But the heat and the cold was bearable to him – if only there wasn’t for this damn sand.

“How much longer will we travel through this damn sandbox,” the Qunari growled. He took the canteen from his belt and gulped down what was rest of his water.

“It shouldn’t be long before we reach the next campsite and meet up with the others,” Nym answered and yawned.

They’ve been on the road for weeks now, traveling from one Inquisition campsite to the other. Even though they came to find the site where the Grey Wardens were gathering for their blood rituals, they ended up with more matters to attend to. The lands were plagued with red templars, Venatori, and dangerous wildlife, while darkspawn kept crawling out from somewhere.

Oh yeah, and apparently there was a high dragon nesting somewhere in the area.

What was supposed to be a quick mission, turned out as a major operation of cleaning the Western Approach. And one of their priorities was taking back the Griffon Wing Keep from the Venatori. Scout Harding noted that having the Keep would greatly solidify the Inquisition’s influence and control over these lands, so it was definitely worth the effort. But for such a dangerous task, Nym needed more than a few allies.

So Iron Bull, Dorian, Varric and Nym went to meet with the others of the Inner Circle at another campsite – ones who were currently dealing with the problem of Darkspawn, led by Stroud and Blackwall. After meeting with the rest of the Inquisition troops, the plan was simple – storm Griffon Wing Keep and claim it.

“Mmhmm,” Bull hummed in answer as he watched the elf yawn once again from the corner of his eye.

Nym looked exhausted for weeks now. The ashen skin, the dark circles under his eyes, the way he slouched a bit while he walked like there was a heavy weight on his shoulders. Not to mention the restless dreams the elf was experiencing. Bull could hear him tossing and turning in his tent, or groaning in his sleep as if he were in pain. Their Inquisitor had been in bad shape ever since he got word from Clan Lavellan about those attacks. Unfortunately, he had to head out soon after and never got a report back to what was happening with his clan.  

“You sure you don’t want to rest for a while, Boss?”

“I’m fine,” came the curt answer. An obvious lie.

Bull frowned, but there was concern in his eye. “Still no word about your people?”

He could see worry flash in Nym’s eyes. The elf’s expression darkened as he shook his head without a word.

This wasn’t the first time Lavellan kept his worries inside. Iron Bull remembered the time right after Haven and how devastated Nym appeared after seeing so many of Haven’s people perish. He knew the elf was still bothered by it, yet he seldom spoke to anyone about what happened. He just kept it all inside. Yet Bull knew how dangerous that could be. After his experiences in Seheron, seeing other soldiers and his superiors break down from stress and all the atrocities they witnessed, with Bull ultimately falling apart after almost a decade there; he knew best it was only a matter of time before Nymrodel reaches his limit after keeping it all bottled inside. Whatever was bothering him, the Qunari was certain it was better to deal with it directly.

Yet he realized a long time ago Nym rarely opened up to others. Usually, he kept all his troubles locked inside so he could focus on the task at hand and the Inquisition’s aims, not wanting to worry anybody. The Inquisitor was easy to read, at least for the Ben-Hassrath agent.

The Qunari sighed, still watching Nym closely with the corner of his uncovered eye. As much as he wanted to help the young elf, this was neither the time nor the place for a serious discussion. Besides, he knew Nymrodel was worried about his clan and there was nothing Bull could do to help with that. A few empty words of consolation wouldn’t help ease his mind. _*But if only I could get the little guy to rest for a while. Then at least he’d be leading with a clear head,*_ the Qunari mused.

He looked at the sky and saw the sun was still high up. Ordinarily, it would be too early to rest or make camp, but then he remembered an oasis they previously noticed on the map. _*It should be nearby and it’s a good opportunity to give him a break,*_ Bull decided.

Turning to Nym, he started, “Hey. There should be an oasis up north, remember? We should go there and refill out water supplies, at least. Sides, some time in the shade will do us good.” Purposely, he made it sound like it was just a tactical advantage and had nothing to do with him worrying over the Inquisitor’s health.

 “Oh Maker, yes!” Dorian exclaimed, dramatically wiping the sweat off his forehead. “I know I should be used to this heat since I’m from Tevinter, but at least I had some good-looking servants to cool me back home!”

“Nice going, Sparkler. You don’t sound like a spoiled rich brat at all,” Varric retorted sarcastically.

Nym frowned, unsure about the proposal. “But the oasis is a bit off our course…” He wanted to get to the Inquisition campsite as soon as possible. Then again, his feet were already dragging from fatigue, and the heat wasn’t helping.

“Come on, Snow. I’m melting over here,” even his dwarven friend chimed in.

Dorian was practically giving him a pair of pleading puppy eyes.

The elf sighed. “Very well, we’ll head north to the oasis.”

~……~

The oasis wasn’t large, but it had a lake with clean water and some trees that formed shade. It was tucked beneath a cliff, which gave them some extra protection from the sun. An old mining shaft laid abandoned nearby, keeping Nym guarded and slightly unnerved about what might be lurking inside that darkness.

On the other hand, Varric and Dorian were practically running into the lake already.

“Be careful guys, there might be varghests or spiders here,” the elf called out, his guard still up.

Until Bull slapped a large hand on his back. “Relax, I don’t see any animal tracks nearby. I don’t think we’re on the side where they come to drink.”

The rogue gave him a dubious look, but sighed in exasperation after a while. Walking over to the lake, he splashed some water on his face and neck to refresh himself, before filling his canteen with clean water.

Nearby, Varric and Dorian were splashing each other with water like children and he shook his head at the view, but cracked a small smile nevertheless. If he was in a better mood, perhaps he would’ve joined them.

Instead, he walked over to a tree and sat beneath it. It was thin and weak, with dry bark and a winding body. It barely had any leaves on its branches, but it was the only shade he would get. Their only other option was going near the mining shaft and he didn’t want to risk that – who knew what was nesting inside.

“You know, we could camp here for a while. Make lunch,” the Qunari’s voice startled him as he approached. For such a big guy, he could really sneak up on you. Or perhaps that only showed how weary Nym truly was.

“But we still need to meet with the troops,” the Inquisitor argued. A heavy hand flopped on his head, but rather than imposing or startling, it felt soothing. It made it hard to keep his eyes open.

“A tired soldier is a dead soldier, Boss. Nothing good comes of pushing yourself till you drop. Just relax.”

Nym’s eyes fluttered shut. “Just for a little while then…” He was asleep before he could finish his thought.

When he awoke, he found himself in a lying position, rather than sitting leaned against the tree. But what surprised him the most was how refreshed he felt. For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t plagued by nightmares. Nym blinked and realized there was still a familiar and heavy, but warm feeling on his head. Rising his gaze, he saw the Iron Bull sitting beside him with his hand tangled in Nym’s hair, his eye closed. The large chest heaved in a slow rhythm as he released soft snoring sounds.

Realizing he must’ve been sleeping for hours, the elf abruptly sat up. By the sun’s low position, it was late afternoon. He saw a few fish already cooked on the fire, which was now dissipating into nothing but lit ambers. The others were also deep in their slumbers and it made Nym’s heart leap in panic – so who was keeping watch? A small glisten of fiery sparks caught his attention and as if answering him, he realized Dorian had put up magical wards around their little camp to scare off any predators – and knowing the mage, possibly set them on fire.  

Rubbing his eyes awake, he got up quietly, dusting the sand from his clothes. The damned thing was everywhere – it got into his clothes and chafed at his skin uncomfortably. The shimmering lake in the oasis gave him an idea and he glanced back at his group to make sure they were still asleep.

The still water was a bit away from their campsite, which gave him some privacy as he slowly took off his armor, starting with his gloves and long coat. He untied his belt with all his lockpicking tools, potions and weapons, and it fell to the sandy ground with a soft clatter. Taking off his high boots, and finally, his tight pants and smallclothes, the elf walked over to the clear water.

 The water wasn’t as cold as he expected it to be. It was warmed by the scorching sun that shone all day, but Nym knew it would get significantly chillier during the night – it would be too cold to bathe then, so now was his only chance.

He hissed as he carefully walked inside, all the way to his waist, but a small smile of satisfaction soon cracked on his pale lips as he cleaned his arms and torso, before jumping in completely to dive underneath. Once under water, he opened his eyes– it was clear enough to see around him despite his murky underwater vision. Red rocks stretched below his feet, with algae growing between the cracks. Being under water was soothing. There was nothing here; nothing to see, no sounds, nothing to remind him of his troubles. He could forget the whole world.

Alas, it could only last for so long. Feeling his lungs were losing oxygen, he lazily swam back to the surface. With a gasp for air and a splash, Nym resurfaced and stood up on the rocky surface until the water was once again reaching to his waist. Rubbing the droplets off his face, he slicked his white hair back and away from his eyes. Opening those ice-hued blues, his gaze traveled back to the campsite and he blinked in wonder. The large frame of the Qunari by the campfire was gone. Instead, he noticed the Iron Bull was wide awake and standing at the edge of the lake.

 For a while they just stared at each other in complete silence. Bull had a look in his eye that Nym couldn’t quite decipher. He realized if he only made a few more steps forward, he would come out of the water and be completely exposed to Bull’s intense gaze. A large lump appeared in his throat at that thought and he swallowed hard to get rid of it, as something in Bull’s intense look made his heart race. A shiver ran passed his spine, but he convinced himself it was only the breeze on his wet skin.

Then a sly smirk spread across the man’s features, “Enjoying yourself, Boss?”

“I thought I’d take the opportunity to rid myself of all that sand on me,” Nym explained. He awkwardly cleared his throat when he cast a glance at his clothes lying next to Bull’s feet. If he wanted to get dressed, he would have to pass right by the smirking Qunari, being very much naked all the while. He was sure Bull knew it too and that was the reason he looked so amused right now. “Could you…,” he started, gesturing for Bull to turn around so he could step out of the water.

“What’s wrong, feeling shy? We’re both men, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. And it’s nothing I’ve never seen before…on an elf,” Bull grinned as he teased him, leaving his insinuating words hanging in the air between them. 

 Nym’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance. “Well you haven’t seen it on _this_ elf,” he countered. _*This guy really has no shame.*_ he thought, a part of him wondering why that comment made him more agitated than it usually would.

The Iron Bull laughed, but turned around nonetheless.

Lavellan stepped out, carefully walking on the red rocks, but all the while keeping a watchful eye on Bull in case he decided to peek. He glanced down his own lean body, then gazed back at Bull’s broad back, before sighing in defeat. It was like comparing a mouse to an elephant – or a great, muscular bull in this case. The elf shook his head to banish those thoughts. _*Why am I staring at his muscles anyway!?*_

“You know, since we’re talking openly already-,” the Qunari started.

“We are?” He asked him cheekily.

Bull chuckled. “Yeah. You’ve been on edge lately and I’m worried it’s starting to cloud your judgment as a leader,” he openly admitted. Maybe a bit too blunt, since it felt like a sharp stab of criticism to Nym. The Qunari continued, “We are about to storm a well-guarded Venatori fortress. We’ll all need to be at our best if we don’t want any casualties…more than necessary, at least.”

Listening to Bull’s reasoning while he put his pants on, he scowled. “There’s been a lot going on lately, that’s all. With my clan and all this business with the Grey Wardens…But it’s nothing unusual for my mess of a life lately. I have it under control,” he reassured him.

“And that’s all?”  
“What else would there be?”

“Your nightmares?” Bull turned around just as Nym finished putting on his shirt. “You’re not sleeping well and it’s probably related to stress. Talk to someone ‘bout it, it may alleviate some of your burdens,” he suggested.

Judging by his expression, Nym evidently didn’t like that idea. His lips pressed together in a tight line, “There’s nothing to discuss, though. I would only worry others needlessly.”

“Trust me, shutting people out when something’s bothering you is hardly productive. I tried it, I know,” the other man frowned.

Nym stiffened a little as a memory flashed in front of his eyes. His mentor used to say something similar. _“Don’t shut out the people who care about you. Don’t shut the world out,”_ he still remembered those words. He did so after his brother died – after his _father_ killed him. And it took a very persistent human who was as hardheaded as he was to bring him back out of that darkness. And now he’s having nightmares again…dreaming of those times. Was he reminded of his past because his clan was in trouble? It was the only explanation he could think of.

“I...didn’t realize I was doing it,” he murmured, before frowning in realization as he turned to stare right into Bull’s grey eye. “Are you doing that Ben-Hassrath thing where you analyze me?”

He didn’t expect for the Qunari to start laughing loudly. “I really don’t need to analyze you to see something’s troubling you.”

The elf furrowed his thin eyebrows, pouting a bit. “Are you saying I’m _that_ obvious?”

The other man shrugged, “You are to _me_. You’re honest and it shows on your face, even when you’re trying to hide something.”

Nymrodel sighed in defeat. So he was an open book. He couldn’t even get mad about that since he knew it was the truth. But his troubles didn’t go away. He thought he got over his past. That he moved forward from it. But then this mess with his Clan started and suddenly it all came back to him – in the form of horrible nightmares. And at the worst of times, no less. He had no time to dwell on his past when Corypheus and his army were trying to conquer the world.

He cast a quick glace towards Dorian and Varric who were still sleeping soundly at the camp. “You said you witnessed some horrible things in Seheron…enough that it broke you. Do you…still get nightmares about it?” His eyes moved to the Qunari again, giving Bull a timid look under his eyebrows. It was hard admitting this to someone, even if it was the always-willing-to-listen Iron Bull.

The Qunari was silent for a long time, eyeing the Inquisitor as if deciding whether he was willing to talk about this or not. Finally, a what-the-hell kind of expression flashed across his face and he nodded, “Sometimes.”

“Then…how do you make them stop?”

Bull huffed and walked closer to the lake, turning his back on the elf. “You don’t. You wake up, pull yourself together and go back to sleep, then wake up in the morning and start off your day like nothing happened. You kick asses that need to be kicked, protect the people you need to protect and make the decisions nobody else will make for you.” He turned around to look at Nym, “Why? Cause you remember all the people that depend on you and y’know you’ve got no other choice.”

_*So toughen up, stop whining and do what you must,*_ the Inquisitor told himself and he knew Bull meant the same, although he was a bit more diplomatic about relaying it. It surprised him the Qunari _was_ diplomatic about it. Taking a deep breath, he smiled, giving Bull a nod.

The other grinned in response, getting his answer even if Nym didn’t say directly what was troubling him. Walking over to the small elf, he gave him a hard slap on the back. “And trust Red. She’ll get your people to safety.”

“Right now we have the Inquisition’s problems to worry about,” agreeing with Bull, Nym nodded. Even as the persistent worry for his clan remained.

~……~

The “special tasks force,” as Varric so ingeniously called them, stared at the well-guarded fortress rising towards the cloudless sky. They all gathered to travel towards the Keep, trying to think of a sound plan of attack. The only thing left was to actually break in the Keep and overtake it.

“It’ll be fine…it’s not the first time we’ve stormed a Keep,” Nym shrugged, trying to stay positive. Unfortunately, this fortress was quite different from the dilapidated one they attacked in the Fallow Mire, or the barely guarded one they claimed in Crestwood. The Venatori were no laughing matter – especially with their spellbinders.

“There are guards at the entrance. We should take them out quickly before they raise the alarm,” Varric suggested.

“Then perhaps we should find some cover while we approach,” Dorian added.

“How? There’s nothing but flat terrain surrounding the Keep for miles in every direction! They’ll see us coming right away,” Solas shook his head.

“Whatever you decide, do it fast, darling. All this sand, wind and sun is bad for the skin,” Vivienne sighed, sounding bored by the whole ordeal already.

“I agree,” the Tevinter mage joined her, worried for his own complexion no doubt.

Nym buried his hand in his face and groaned in exasperation. Sadly, the elven mage was right. There was no way the Venatori won’t see them coming and sound the alarm right away. They would be shooting arrows and fireballs at them before they even got close to the walls. Nym’s mind raced as he tried to reach a solution. 

“Pish! I’mma just get ‘em all with my arrows,” Sera exclaimed.

“Besides, we can always just charge and break the doors down,” Blackwall shrugged.

Cassandra furrowed her brows in dissatisfaction. “I was hoping for a better plan than _just charge in_.”

“Hey, that might work. You have me, after all. I’ll break the gates down while you take care of the Vint guards outside the walls,” Bull started.

“And our mages, in addition to Sera and Varric, can use long range attacks to keep their forces on the battlements under fire. They won’t be able to focus on us as much,” Nym added and finished the plan.

The Qunari nodded in agreement.

“They won’t simply be under fire, they’ll be _on_ fire,” the Tevinter mage added with a smirking wink.

“Those are bad people in that fort. They deserve to die,” Cole muttered, agreeing with the rest of them. Or at least Nym believed it was his way of agreeing – he still needed more time to figure that kid out. 

~……~

It was like a small war had broken out at the Keep. As soon as Iron Bull, Blackwall and Cassandra smashed through the front gates, the Inquisition group charged inside with cover from their mages. It turned out the large fight at the courtyard they were expecting never happened.

Instead, the Venatori left some troops to slow the Inquisition down while the rest of them withdrew deeper into the Keep. They ran up the large staircase that led towards the battlements. The last Venatori soldier never made it as an arrow from Sera hit him in the back and his corpse sprawled across the stairs.

“Gotta be a trap, that,” the elven archer warned when she saw the Venatori pulling back.

A booming, unfamiliar voice echoed throughout the Keep. “Give it up, Inquisitor! This is where you fall!” A mumbling traveled through the air as the man’s voice started to chant.

“Undecipherable chanting? That can’t be good,” Varric grimaced.

“It’s Tevene. A fire ward spell,” Dorian informed them.

“I’m starting to get the picture about what that trap will be,” Nym announced.

“We have no choice but to push forward. We will root them out!” Cassandra raised her bloody sword towards the staircase.

“How about we find a way forward without stumbling _right into_ a trap, Seeker,” the dwarf eyed Cassandra with a dubious stare.

While they bickered, Lavellan examined their surroundings. His gaze was glued to the wooden ladders posted on the side battlements. “Maybe we don’t need to go _straight_ in,” he muttered with a smirk, a plan forming in his mind. 

“You have a plan, we gather,” Blackwall asked in a guess.

The rogue pointed at the ladders, “We attack them from the sides. We flank them.”

“They might be expecting exactly that. If they have any decent planning skills, they will guard their flanks too,” Cassandra reminded him.

“I’m more worried about what that mage is planning than a few armed Venatori,” Nym retorted. “Besides, the rogues will go in first…Cole and I can scout the area ahead.”

“Oh good. For a second I’s worried you meant me n’ Varric,” Sera laughed.

“Actually, the two of you will be shooting at them from the front to keep them occupied,” Nym pointed out.

A grumble from Varric and “Shite!” from Sera broke out in unison.

“It’s better than going in blindly from the front,” Iron Bull shrugged. He was always up for a good straightforward fight, but that didn’t mean he was foolish enough to charge in without a plan or any idea of what he was up against. The man liked to fight, but he wasn’t stupid.

~….~

Cole went to the left, while Nym started climbing the ladders on the right. As he climbed towards the battlements and glanced down, he noticed it was much higher than he first expected. A fall down from the top of the bulwarks could easily be fatal.

As he reached the top, he stayed hidden on the ladders, beneath the edge of the walkway. He saw a few Venatori archers standing near the edge. Most of the Tevinters were waiting at the front, expecting the Inquisition to just charge after them up the staircase. He saw a mage with them, but he kept his distance from the entrance, and Nym wondered what he was waiting for. The man looked like he was still chanting, preparing a spell, but Nym couldn’t see any signs of magic around him.

_*But that doesn’t mean there isn’t any,*_ he reminded himself.

Across the fort, he saw Cole climbing up the bulwark and sneaking behind a Venatori. Since he was about to act, Nym had no choice but to do the same. He decided to take care of the Venatori archers near the edge first.

Instead of climbing on the battlements, the elf noticed the façade was filled with cracks and ornamental stones. It would be easy to climb on it. Keeping his head low, he jumped from the ladders to the side and grabbed at the wall, digging his fingers into the cracks. His feet found a few protruded stones on the wall, and he soon had a firm grip on it. He slowly started moving sideways, careful not to make any sounds that would alarm the archers. Noiselessly sneaking across the surface, he proceeded along the wall until the first Venatori archer was standing right above him. Luckily, the man was turned away from the ledge.  

The rogue swiftly grabbed the man’s ankle and pulled as hard as he could, causing the man to lose his footing. The Venatori flailed his arms in panic, having already lost his balance, before he fell backwards. With a scream, the men fell off the battlements until his cry was sharply cut off by his landing.

Nym had no time to look down at the broken body as the other Venatori came at him with a dagger. The man stabbed at him, but the elf dodged by jumping sideways and gripped the ledge. He pulled himself up in one quick motion and pulled out his daggers just in time to block another attack. Crouching low, he swiped the man’s foot with his own. The Venatori lost his balance just like the other one and fell off the pathway face-first.

Seeing there were no other soldiers nearby, he whistled loudly to signal the rest of his group so they could also climb up. Across the Keep, he saw Cole vanish and reappear behind every Venatori soldier, quickly taking care of them. The spirit boy was a natural at sneaking and easily kept his presence unnoticed, due to his otherworldly nature. Nym almost envied him for it - the way Cole made it look so easy.

The Venatori spellbinder was done chanting and the soldiers finally noticed Nymrodel and Cole on the battlements. Fortunately, the rest of his companions were already climbing up the ladders to join the fray. Nym didn’t have time to wait for backup as the Venatori attacked.

He rushed forward, but realized only a few soldiers attacked him. All the others huddled protectively around the mage, forming a wall with him shielded in the middle. They didn’t move from their position even as Nym ran closer towards them.

As suspicion gripped him, he furrowed his eyebrows, his vallaslin tangling in the creases of his forehead. Before he had the time to closely examine the situation, a soldier with a large metal shield that covered all of him charged towards him. He jumped to the side to avoid the blow and quickly reappeared behind the soldier, slashing at his back with both daggers. The man’s armor was thick, but Nym found the softer spots covered only in leather by his ribs and lower back.

The soldier, although guarded heavily from the front, was slow to turn around. By the time he managed to spin, lugging that massive shield with him, Nym was already gone from his spot. The warrior swung his mace, only to hit air. He turned his head in confusion, trying to locate the elven rogue. With the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of movement on the wall and looked up, just as Nym leaped off it with both daggers raised. The warrior yelped and stumbled backwards, but was brought down on his back by Nym’s weight. Two daggers buried themselves deep into the soldier’s stomach, right below his metal armor. Nym sliced through the stomach and pulled his daggers out, ignoring the blood that splattered onto his face and creating a dark red contrast on his pale skin.

He heard thundering footsteps behind him and turned to see the Inquisition’s warriors made their way to the battlements and charged forward. They passed him by, going for the line of unmoving Venatori soldiers.

“Wait!” Nymrodel shouted in alarm. He couldn’t shake off this feeling that something was amiss.

“Fire wards!” Dorian called out behind Nym as he realized what the mage had summoned. The non-mages in the group couldn’t see them, but the Inquisition spellcasters clearly could. There was a semi-circle of fire wards all around the Venatori, separating them from the enemies. The soldiers were only bait, waiting to lure in their attackers.

“I will begin the dispelling magic,” the elven apostate stated, before he started to focus the magical energy in his staff.

Bloodthirsty for combat, their warriors didn’t hear the warnings, already charging towards the enemy. It didn’t take long for Nym to realize Solas won’t make it in time before the others reach the trap.

He ran as fast as he could towards them to warn them, even as he knew there was a big chance of him getting sucked into the explosion rather than stopping them in time. But he had to do _something_. “Stop!” He shouted once more.

Just as Cassandra went to crash into the first Venatori with her shield, Cole suddenly appeared before her. The young man materialized, seemingly out of nowhere, and put his hands out. “Stop! It’s a trap! The mage is using fire wards!”

The mage Venatori, clad completely in black robes with his face hidden behind a large hood, snarled in anger. “No matter! It is already too late for you, Inquisition!” He triggered his fire trap, not caring that some of his men will get caught in it as well. “For the Elder One!”

Just as the first few fire wards exploded, engulfing friend and foe in their flames, Solas finished his spell and countered the rest of the magic. The enchanting circles paled away with most of the wards disappearing. The flames that started, quickly dissolved into thin air, as Solas’ spell sucked out all the magic cast by the other mage.

At the same time, Dorian and Vivienne cast a barrier on the Inquisition warriors, saving them from the exploding wards that weren’t countered. The explosive blast still flung them backwards, but they were shielded from the flames licking at their skin.

Some of the Venatori weren’t as fortunate. Their mage leader did nothing for them as they were caught in the flames. Their clothes caught on fire and it quickly spread, burning their flesh and hair while leaving a sordid stench in the air.

Panicking, the soldiers ran around screaming while they tried to put out the flames on their clothes. In their shock, they didn’t see a giant axe cutting the air in their direction until it beheaded two burning soldiers simultaneously. Bull grinned with a bloodthirsty gaze in his eye, laughing at his accomplishment of beheading two enemies at once. He gave Cassandra and Blackwall a proud look, but only got a disgusted noise in return from the Seeker.

“You guys are no fun,” the Qunari grumbled at their weak reaction.

“This is far from over, Inquisitor!” The Venatori mage shouted, ordering the rest of his troops to attack Lavellan.

“How many of these baddies _are_ there?” Sera exclaimed in irritation, shooting her enemies with arrows; sometimes two at a time.

“23,” Cole answered simply.

Sera scrunched up her nose in discomfort as Cole spoke to her. “Ugh! I didn’t ask that literaturely, weird demon boy,” she bit back.

“I think you mean ‘ _literally_ ,’” Dorian corrected her with a shout and summoned a storm of lightning bolts towards the incoming enemies.

“I know what I said,” Sera yelled back in irate.

“Now is _not_ the time, you two,” Cassandra warned them as she pierced a Venatori warrior in the shoulder.

The Imperial Enchanter helped her by freezing the wounded man’s legs, giving the warrior a chance to finish him off faster as her next sword swing cut through his clavicle.

Varric sent a rain of bolts from Bianca right into three charging Venatori, riddling them with holes. “These guys are turning into beehives and _still_ they don’t give up!”

“They must really believe in Corypheus to fight so hard,” Blackwall shouted over a crying Venatori archer after he stabbed him in the stomach and pulled his bloodied sword out. He raised his shield just in time to block an incoming arrow. “A bit of help with the archers here,” he called out.

“Got it,” Sera shouted and fired an arrow that flew right between Blackwall and his raised arm, hitting the Venatori archer that stood by his side. The arrow hit the woman right in the chest, sending her tumbling towards the ground. 

Meanwhile, Nymrodel set his eyes on the one pulling the strings – the Venatori spellcaster. By severing the snake’s head, he hoped the other soldiers would fall into disorder.

It seemed Bull had the same idea as he stepped next to his leader. While the rest of their companions were still holding off Venatori troops, the elf and the Qunari glanced at each other.

“Ready, big guy?” Nym asked, giving the Qunari a wicked smirk.

Bull returned it with a bloodthirsty smile, “Right behind ya, Boss.”

The mage in question disappeared from their view as the matter around him dispersed in the air, only to reappear further away from the fighting. A giant spelltome levitated above his one hand while he leaned on his staff with the other. Nym could see the way he breathed hard and kept his weight on the staff – he was drained from his spell earlier and had little magical energy left. Even so, the man started chanting again.

The rogue decided he wouldn’t give this mage a chance to pull another spell from his robe sleeve. He needed to end him before that. But it was clear that if they tried attacking him head on, he would just teleport to safety again.

“He’ll just teleport if he sees us coming,” he mused out loud.

“We shall corner him then,” Madam de Fer appeared next to the pair. “I can help with that, darling.”

Bull was the first to act. He charged at the mage with a thundering cry, his axe held in both hands as he swung at the man.

At the same time, Vivienne created an ice wall on the mage’s right side, preventing him from teleporting there. As an experienced mage herself, the Enchantress knew the limit of how far one could transport their matter without inadvertently killing themselves by stretching it too thin.

Bull’s axe came down towards the mage while the wall of ice arose beside them. Sneering in irritation, the Venatori transported again, disappearing in a hazy mist of black and traveling through the air. He reappeared on his left, closer to the battlements wall, and opened his tome again.

Just as he was about to call upon a spirit to aid him in battle, a sharp pain caught him off guard. In his rush to teleport, he didn’t notice an elven rogue waiting in the shadows behind him, right where he materialized. Both daggers easily sank into the unarmored flesh and muscle as Lavellan stabbed him in the back.   

The mage chocked on blood spilling out of his mouth. He cranked his neck to look behind him and his clouded eyes widened when he noticed the rogue standing there. Nym straightened himself up and pulled one dagger out of the man, keeping the other weapon inside for control.

As the blade slid out of him, the man gasped, then coughed out more blood while struggling for breath. Staring at Lavellan as best he could over his shoulder, he gave him a hateful glare, “I….am not afraid of…death. I join…my Master’s glory.”

“I’ll assume you chose those as your last words,” Nym mumbled darkly, before sliding a blade across the mage’s throat.

With his last breath ending in a hitch, the man fell forward to the ground.

The last of the Venatori scattered in panic when they saw their leader fall; even some fanatics valued their survival over their cause. The Inquisition group, however, didn’t give them a chance to flee. Sera and Varric blocked their escape and rained down arrows and bolts onto them, hence finishing the last of the Venatori resistance at the Keep.   

~……~

Nymrodel scanned around the Griffon Wing Keep, then stared over the walls, into the vast distance of nothing but old ruins and sand. He didn’t quite like the desert; the openness didn’t provide much cover and left them exposed to any enemy scouts or attack. Not to mention all the dangerous wildlife hiding among the sand dunes. And then there were the extreme weather conditions where the sun would scorch them during the day, leaving Nym feeling like he was slowly cooking inside of his armor, while the temperature would drop below zero during the evening and it would become freezing. Now that he thought about it, Nym decided he really _hated_ the desert. The whole place only made him miss the green forests and soft grass more. Didn’t Cullen mention something about traveling to the Emerald Graves soon? He sure hoped so, because he would give anything to be in the Dales now, instead.

His thoughts were interrupted by Varric, “Well, Snow, you want your very own fort in the middle of nowhere?”

Shrugging, Nym chuckled. “It has water and a good tactical location. I’d say this was a beneficial detour before searching for the Grey Wardens.”

“It will definitely give the Inquisition more influence in southwestern Orlais,” Vivienne pointed out knowledgably.

“And a good military position in the Western Approach,” Cassandra approvingly added.

“I’ll send a message to Leliana to get our troops transferred here,” Nym concluded.

“So….lunch while we wait?” Sera suggested with a smile and produced a container of food from Creators-know-where.

Nym gave her an apologetic smile. “We’ll take a break here, of course, but we need to return to camp. Scout Harding is still waiting there with Hawke and Warden Stroud. I’m sure they’re itching to go find the Grey Wardens already,” he reminded. 

Blackwall nodded with a grunt. “Indeed. The sooner we resolve this grim business with the Wardens, the better.”

“The business where they lost their heads to panic and foolishly turned to blood magic, you mean?” Solas asked bitterly, his every word sardonic.

“Even if what they’re doing isn’t right, you should cut them some slack. They are the only ones protecting this world from the Blight!” Blackwall argued, his gaze hardening towards the elven mage.

“Or at least that is what they want you to believe,” Solas hissed back, his eyes narrowing in irate.

“Knock it off, you two,” Nym barked, calming them both down. “We don’t even know what’s happening with the Wardens. Save the judgements for later.” Feeling exasperated all of a sudden, he exhaled.

“Take a team to the camp. I’ll stay here with the bulk of the group to mind the fort,” Cassandra suggested, eager to change the subject and calm the rising tensions.

Nym nodded, giving her a thankful gaze.

“Sooo….where are we standin’ on that lunch? Cause my stomach’s growly!” Sera watched the others inquiringly.

Nym chuckled. “Sure…let’s eat.”

Bull’s laughter reached them while he was in the middle of cleaning his axe. “Heh, I’m in. Killing a bunch of Vints always makes me hungry. It’s good exercise.”

Dorian gave him a disapproving stare as he muttered, “Is that so…?”

“That, and sex,” Bull added with a shrug. He gave Cassandra a flirty grin, “Right, Seeker?” He would have winked at her, but that always only looked like he was blinking.

“Ugh,” Cassandra fought the urge to roll her eyes as she grimaced in disgust.

The rest of the group just laughed, except for the mages in the group who shared similar expressions as the Seeker.

Throughout the scene, Cole was left blinking in wonder. Confusion was written across his young face. “I don’t get hungry…can I still join in?”

Nym gave him an uncertain stare, “At lunch, right? Please tell me you’re talking about lunch.”

Varric laughed and patted Cole on the middle of his back, “Sure you can, kid.”

~…..~

With Harding’s scouts and Leliana’s agents – plus their firmer foothold throughout the Western Approach – it didn’t take long until the Inquisition found the location of the Grey Wardens.

It was in the old ruins of an ancient Tevinter temple where the Grey Wardens preformed their rituals. From the reports, it appeared they often went to and fro from that ancient Ritual Tower, although the spies couldn’t come close enough to determine what exactly went on in there.

Nym walked with Hawke and Stroud by his side, along with a few others from his inner circle of companions. As they approached the tower, he saw the air around the area shift. At first he thought it was only the heat in the air that made that illusion, until Hawke spoke up.

“It looks like they’ve already started the ritual. I can feel powerful magic coming from up there,” he gestured at the base of the ruined tower. All humor was gone from him as he stared at the crackling magic in the air.

“We better hurry. We need to stop them,” Stroud’s voice came out even grimmer than usual.

“I’ll take point. Hawke, guard our backs,” Lavellan ordered, taking the lead as they proceeded onward. He stayed cautious as he moved, but quickened his pace when he felt the urgency in his two allies.

At the circular area, right at the base of the old tower, the Grey Wardens – mages and warriors alike – gathered.

A young Warden was surrounded by his comrades, yet he looked anything but at ease. The mage Warden in front of him slowly stepped closer with a drawn knife.

“W-wait! I…I changed my mind, I don’t want to do this! This is wrong!” He pleaded in a thick Orlesian accent.

A mage in white robes appeared behind him. He glowered at the young man below him, “Warden-Commander Clarel’s orders were clear! Remember your oath. In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death…”

The young Warden was still shaking his head and inching away when the unexpected blade stabbed him in the back. His eyes widened in shock before all life seeped out of them.

“Sacrifice,” the Tevinter magister finished with a sickening tone of satisfaction.

The blood unnaturally flowed upwards from his corpse, then gathered in an orb before it disappeared into a strong blast of magic. In its place came a Rage demon, roaring loudly – perhaps a manifestation of the sacrificed man’s anger at the injustice of his demise. 

“Good,” the Tevinter spoke. “Now bind it just like I showed you.”

The mage who killed one of his own comrades turned to the demon and used his magic on it. The Rage resisted at first, but quickly fell into line.

Nym ran up to the Wardens, but stopped short when he saw the large fade rift shifting and crackling in the air. What’s more, the Wardens were sacrificing their own to summon demons. * _A demon army they talked about in the dark future,*_ he remembered, and the realization instantly brought a bleak feeling in his chest. If the Wardens were somehow creating the demon army that Corypheus planned to use to subdue Thedas, this was even worse than the Inquisition originally suspected!

“Inquisitor,” the magister noticed Lavellan and called out in an unimpressed greeting. All the Grey Wardens eerily turned to look at the elf in unison, yet made no comment. They all had strange red eyes, much like red lyrium victims, and Nym wondered if there was any connection.

Inquisitor and his group walked closer, undeterred by the hollow gazes following after them.

“Yep. Definitely blood magic involved,” Hawke deadpanned in a whisper.

“What an unexpected pleasure!” The Tevinter continued, “Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service.” He even bowed to the Inquisitor, though it only appeared derisive at this point.

 “Do all Tevinter magisters have to do everything with such…dramatic flair,” Varric asked Dorian in a mutter.

“I’d love to say “no,” but I truly can’t,” the mage shrugged, looking almost apologetic.

Nym wasn’t impressed either as he stared at the suspicious mage. “And of the Venatori, I presume?”

Erimond scoffed, amused by the correct assumption. “Haven’t you heard? I am here, in all my generosity, to help the Grey Wardens end the Blights for good!” He was insistent on keeping the charade going.

“You are no Warden,” Stroud growled as he stepped in front.

The magister frowned at him, “But you are. The one Clarel let slip,” he sighed in disappointment. And you found the Inquisitor and came to stop me. Shall we see how that goes?” He asked mockingly, smirking at the man.

The Inquisitor for one had enough of this farce. He turned to the Wardens who were still quietly standing at the sidelines. “Wardens! You’re being deceived! This man works for Corypheus; the monster who uses the Blight!” He watched to see how the men and women of the Grey Wardens would react…only to see they remained completely expressionless.

“Snap out of it!” Blackwall also tried.

No reaction came from the Wardens, and their confusion was broken by Erimond’s loud laughter. He turned to the Wardens, “Wardens, hands up!” As soon as he raised his arm, every other Warden followed suit in the same manner.  “Hands down,” he lowered his hand, only for the Wardens to mimic him again.

Understanding hit Nym at once and he swallowed hard at the sight – Erimond had complete control over their minds.

“Corypheus has taken their minds!” Stroud exclaimed what everyone was thinking.

“They did this to themselves,” the magister corrected him. “You see, the Calling had the Wardens terrified. They looked _everywhere_ for help.”

“Even Tevinter,” Dorian sighed as he shook his head in a mix of sorrow and disappointment.

“Yes. And since it was my _master_ who put the Calling into their little heads, we in the Venatori were prepared.” Erimond strutted around while he explained through his gloating. “I went to Clarel full of sympathy, and together, we came up with a plan…Raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill the Old Gods before they wake.”

“Of course. Because I was just thinking that what this war lacked was a good demon army. Obviously, ancient darkspawn magisters, archdemons and crazed templars weren’t enough,” Hawke pointed out with sarcasm, shaking his head in frustration.

“I was wondering when that demon army would appear…guess we have our answer now,” Nym added, his demeanor completely composed despite Erimond’s revelation.

The magister cleared his throat, taken aback by the stony reactions to his great plans. “You… _knew_ about it, did you?” Suspiciously, he eyed the Inquisitor. “Well, then, here you are.” Soon, he returned his composure, “Sadly for the Wardens, the binding ritual I taught their mages has a side effect. They’re now my master’s slaves.”

“There’s hardly enough Wardens or demons to call this an army,” Dorian glanced at the troops with distaste.

 The Venatori mage scoffed. “This was a test. Once the rest of the Wardens complete the rituals, the army will conquer Thedas!”

“Don’t you just love it when the villain lays out all of his evil plans in the open,” Nym blankly commented, still staring at Erimond with an aloof expression.

Varric, Hawke and Dorian chuckled, giving Erimond a pitiable look.

The magister glared at them in fury, “You won’t be so amused when Corypheus brings down the Blight on all of you!”

“Neither will you! What do you get out of selling the world to the Blight?” Stroud bit back angrily.

Erimond sneered. “The Elder One commands the Blight. He is not commanded _by_ it, like the mindless Darkspawn. The Blight is not unstoppable or uncontrollable. It is simply a tool.”

“ _Someone’s_ definitely a tool,” Varric muttered, making another snickering session break out from Nymrodel and the two mages.   

 The Venatori cleared his throat loud enough to stop them, snarling at them in frustration. He was _trying_ to explain his ingenious plans to them and they were making a fool out of him! “While the Elder One rules from the Golden City, we, the Venatori, will be his god-kings here in the world.”

Nym growled, growing impatient by his ludicrous reasoning, “I’ve heard enough! I can only take so much of stupid. Release the Wardens and surrender. I won’t ask twice,” he narrowed his eyes at the mage.

“No. You won’t…,” Erimond responded cryptically, before pointing his hand at the elf. It glowed with bright red light, much like the light reflected in the Wardens’ eyes. In the next instant, Nym’s mark burst as a familiar crackling sound resounded from it.

“Argh!” The elf cried out in pain and grabbed at his wrist. The sharp pain spread from his now-brightly glowing mark all the way to his shoulder. It reminded him of the same pain Corypheus caused him when he tried to take back the Anchor.   

“Snow!” Varric called out in concern, seeing his friend fall to his knees.

“The Elder One showed me how to deal with you, in the event you were foolish enough to interfere again. That mark you bear? The Anchor that lets you pass safely through the Veil? You stole that from my master! He’s been forced to seek other ways to access the Fade.”

Nym remembered Corypheus saying something similar at Haven. The painful memory of Haven’s destruction flashed in his mind, and he tightened his jaw as that pain turned into anger. But he wasn’t the same now as he was then. He was _stronger_. And he wasn’t about to be defeated by the same trick _again_. He stood up through the pain, pointing his shimmering hand at the mage and trying to mimic the feeling when he closed down rifts. He used that same technique towards Erimond.

The mage was still babbling, “When I bring him your head, his gratitude will be-Ah!” His gloating was interrupted when he cried out in surprise as a blast of energy hit him.

_*It worked,*_ Nym blinked, barely believing it himself. * _I can’t believe that actually worked.*_     

The magister looked even more baffled than Nym as he stared at the approaching group. And by the looks of it, they were done giving Erimond any kind of chance to surrender peacefully. Quickly scrambling back to his feet, he started pulling back. “Kill them!” He shouted his final orders to the Grey Wardens before limping away in pain.

“Tch!” Nym clicked his tongue in annoyance and went to chase after him, only to find his path blocked by the controlled Wardens. “Is there really no other way to free them from Corypheus’ control other than killing them?” His question was mostly directed to the mages of his group; if anyone knew of a way, it would be them. 

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case this time. “No. It’s already too late for these people,” Dorian answered with a hint of sympathy in his voice.

The Grey Wardens weren’t the only thing they needed to worry about as the demons controlled by the Warden mages attacked them in unison.

Hawke murmured a spell, his blue eyes glowing brightly, while he lifted his hands towards the sky. The gesture instantly paralyzed most of the Shade demons coming at them.

Nymrodel used that time to cut through them, the black goo splattering around as he sliced into their thick skin. A Shade roared as it deformed until it was nothing but a pool of black liquid on the ground.

From the corner of his eye, he could see a mage preparing a spell aimed at him. He quickly disappeared in the crowd of stunned Shade demons, hiding behind their bodies to avoid the spell. Leaping back into the shadows, he focused on the mage as his new target. It was time for Heir’s assassination training to realize itself. He masked his presence as he snuck closer to his target, using the chaos of the battlefield to stay unnoticed. The mage was too focused on throwing energy balls at the warriors, while simultaneously giving orders to the demon he held in control.

Heir’s words came to Nymrodel’s mind as he drew closer to his target; _“You misunderstand the point of secrecy. Of course they knew that I was there—one of their number was dead. It is never the aim that they are ignorant to my purpose or presence. Death is, after all, a message, and messages are meant to be received. It is paramount that the arrival remain secret, not the result. They know what may come, but never when—until the answer is "now" and there is naught they can do but receive.”_

He stealthily moved through the battlefield until he was close enough to the mage that he could examine his armor. Leather was protecting his limbs, with padded stuffing on the front and back. _*The sides are exposed,*_ the elf noticed, his sharp elven eyes locating the best spot for his blades to sink in.  

When he felt near enough to strike, he pounced. The Warden heard a noise and started turning just as Nym’s first dagger stabbed below his ribs. The mage gaped, then instinctively summoned a blast with his mind for protection. Nym, along with his weapon, were sent flying away, but the blade only sliced more on its way out, causing the man to bleed profoundly. The Warden fell to his knees, losing consciousness from bloodloss.

 Nym, however, wasn’t in the clear just yet. As he was pushed away, he fell right onto one of the ice wards set by the Wardens as traps. His body started to freeze at incredible speed, wringing a startled gasp out of him.

He struggled to his feet as fast as he could, trying to exit the magical circle before it was too late, but he didn’t make it in time. His legs froze first, while the cold slowly spread throughout his body. He shivered, his teeth chattering as he futilely struggled to move. “Shit,” he cursed, seeing the ice was now traveling up his waist. He tried to scrape it off with his daggers, careful not to cut himself in the process, but it did no good. The chill crept up his spine, numbing his body until his normally-nimble fingers slowed down with their work on the ice.

As if by a cruel chance of fate, he noticed a Shade demon slithering towards him. Most of his group were busy fighting other Warden mages and the large Rage demon that was spitting fire everywhere, so no one noticed Nymrodel’s predicament.

He continued to chip away at the ice around his leg, while occasionally casting glances at the approaching demon. Chunks of it fell to the ground and melted as he worked, until he deemed enough of it was damaged to try and break free. He struggled to move his trapped leg. “Come on,” he hissed. Just one leg would be enough.

The demon was almost upon him when he felt his foot and knee were able to move more freely. With great effort, he used all his strength to loosen the leg out of the remaining ice and break it free. After a moment more of his wriggling, the rest of the ice around his leg collapsed, and he pushed with that leg off the ground and into a fall – just as the Shade swung at him with its claws. The demon missed by an inch as Nym fell to the ground, causing the ice trapping his other leg to shatter.

Throwing knives flashed through the air as he threw a few at the demon, before positioning himself into a crouch as the Shade advanced at him. He stabbed the monster with both dual daggers and sliced upwards with them while standing back up, ripping the demon open.

Demon blood and sweat dripped from his face before he wiped the mixture off, exhaling in exhaustion and disgust. A roar brought him back to reality and he watched as the great Rage demon fell, surrounded by his companions. Blackwall and Stroud held their shields up, blocking the fire attacks and pushing the demon back, while the mages used ice magic to cool it down. As the demon’s magma cooled down into charred crusted armor, Varric fired a volley of bolts that exploded on impact, splattering the lava everywhere and destroying the creature.

“Livius!” Warden Stroud remembered their real enemy and searched for the magister, but saw nothing but his fellow Warden corpses around him.

Hawke shook his head, “He’s long gone.”

 Blackwall’s thick brows furrowed as he gazed over the corpses of other Wardens. “It shouldn’t have been this way…Poor bastards.”

“We had no choice. They refused to listen to reason,” Dorian sighed, although he didn’t look any more pleased about killing them than the rest. His words, albeit sounding harsh, had a somber undertone as if he was trying to convince himself too.

Stroud turned to Hawke, “You were right about everything. Through their ritual, the Warden mages are slaves to Corypheus.”

The apostate shook his head in frustration, combing through his black hair with his hand. “I’ve seen my fair share of blood magic – it never ends well. Who decides summoning demons and sacrificing people is a good idea in _any_ situation!?”

“The Wardens were wrong Hawke, but they had their reasons,” Stroud tried to explain in their defense, but nothing he said could excuse them at this point.

“Oh, don’t give me that shit, Stroud!” Hawke interrupted him. “All blood mages have a story they tell themselves to justify their bad decisions…and it never matters. In the end, they always cause nothing but pain and death!”

Nym couldn’t have agreed more; like Hawke, he had nothing but bad experiences with blood magic, and this just made him remember those bitter memories. “Blood magic is never the answer. I don’t care if they think they can end the Blights this way. If we don’t stop them, they will give Corypheus exactly what he wants.”

A troubled expression twisted under Stroud’s mustache, but he nodded in agreement. “I believe I know where the Wardens are, Your Worship. I saw Erimond flee northeast before we were attacked. There’s an abandoned Warden Fortress there – Adamant.”

“Adamant,” Nym repeated in thought. He remembered Cole mentioning that place – that’s where he escaped from. “Cole called it an old, bad place. He said he and his friends found a demon there.”

“Oh great, more demons,” Varric sarcastically muttered with a sigh. “Tiny will love that,” he added.

Nym couldn’t disagree. “For now, let’s return to Griffon Keep and regroup. We need to talk to Cassandra and the others.”

He was tired and chilled to the bone from the ice magic that enveloped his body earlier, his legs numb and a bit unsteady. A sore feeling gripped his marked hand from whatever Erimond tried to do to him – the pulsating pain traveled from his now-dormant mark to his shoulder. But he kept a straight face, pushing the pain to the back of his mind as he stubbornly pressed on. He willed his feet to keep walking, masking his weariness. Nym knew he had to play the part of a strong, determined leader now, so he couldn’t show any weakness that would worry the others. He needed to look like he was in control, even if he didn’t really feel as such. _*Hopefully that will only need to last until I pass out on a cot in Griffon Keep tonight,*_ he mused in anticipation.

~…..~

As soon as he got to the fortress, he got a full report from Knight-Captain Rylen; Cullen’s second-in-command and Griffon’s Keep newly appointed commander. Although the Venatori had lost their military footing in the Western Approach, their presence was far from gone as they escaped further north to another old fortress – the ruins of Coracavus, where they were now digging and using slaves for their archeological research. Nobody knew what they were hoping to find, but Leliana made it clear in her letter that it was better for them _not_ to find it.

It also seemed the newly acquired fort had a problem with the water supply that included Varghests, and that darkspawn were _still_ crawling out from somewhere in the area.   

_*So much for that long rest,*_ the elf thought in dismay. * _I’ll admit it was naive of me to believe I would get one.*_

He finished his own report about the Grey Wardens to the rest of the group and then made plans for their future missions. By the time they left the secondary War Room they established for consulting about the missions in the area, it was already dark outside.

Shivering, he rubbed his shoulders with his own hands to keep warm. It always fascinated him how much the temperature dropped during the night compared to daytime.

“Are you going to write to Commander Cullen to prepare Inquisition troops for the attack on Adamant?” Stroud’s voice came from his right, but it didn’t startle him. The rogue could sense his presence when he was still approaching. Heir’s training was really useful for a lot of circumstances, although it was his time in the Clan that sharpened his senses.

Nym nodded. “Yes. It will take a while for the siege to be planned out, and get the equipment and army ready. With the number of issues the Inquisition needs to address here beforehand, it seems we’ll be in the Western Approach for some time yet,” he explained. _*Unfortunately,*_ he begrudgingly added in his mind.

The Warden gave an approving nod, “Whenever you are ready, Inquisitor, I will fight by your side. I know you, like Hawke, don’t approve of what the Wardens are doing – neither do I – and I appreciate that you are willing to help with this.”

“This effects all of us, ser Stroud,” the Inquisitor answered, surprising even himself at how diplomatic he sounded. Josephine’s influence was really rubbing off on him. “Get some rest. There’s another long day ahead of us tomorrow.” He gave the Warden a curt, farewell nod. Hawke and Stroud decided to scout Adamant ahead and then join the Inquisition’s advisors back at Skyhold to help with planning on how to storm the fortress. Meanwhile, Lavellan and his group needed to stay here and work on returning stability to the Western Approach.

As he walked down the corridors, occasionally nodding in greeting to the bypassing Inquisition soldiers, he was grateful his quarters were only a quick stroll away. He had only been gone a week since they took this place and Griffon Keep had already become a prosperous, defendable fort; they had everything from merchants to a blacksmith, and even a training area for the soldiers in the courtyard. He had to hand it to Knight-Captain Rylen – the man knew how to organize and manage a fortress.

 “So I hear there’s a high dragon roaming the area,” this time a voice did startle him. He flinched, whipping around to look at the large Qunari casually strolling over from the shadows. Damn, how was this guy so big yet so good and creeping up at people? Oh right, he’s a spy. Nym had to remind himself of that fact often.

Even before he turned to meet the Qunari’s gaze, Bull’s familiarly gruff voice made him grin. If another person saw him, they would wonder if the elf was conscious of his beaming smile, which spread as soon as he noticed Bull’s presence.

“Oh no…I already know where this is going,” the elf sighed overdramatically.

“Oh come on, Boss! I thought you of all people would be interested,” the mercenary captain exclaimed in eagerness. Perhaps a bit too much eagerness, Nym mused. Bull acted like an excited boy every time he heard the word “dragon,” and this time there was an actual possibility of hunting one – which arose thanks to one eccentric Orlesian Draconology professor called Frederic.  

Nym tapped his bottom lip with one finger while thinking about it. “Well I suppose I am a bit interested…”

“See, I knew you’d understand!” Bull grinned, draping a heavy arm around Nym’s shoulders, almost pulling him into his chest as he shook him.

The small elf felt like he had just hit a brick wall with his nose as he collided with Bull’s chest. _*What the hell is this guy made of?! Rocks!?*_

Not even noticing his predicament, Bull continued to ramble on about dragons. Something about how their very roar makes his blood boil and his heartbeat quicken. Honestly, the way he talked about them, it sounded like he was enticed by the very notion of fighting them.

 Nym realized the sudden warmth, along with the contact, didn’t bother him. Surprising, as he usually wasn’t very tactile with people outside his Clan. Even though the Dalish appreciated contact as a way to show affection or comradery between clanmates, he knew the outside world wasn’t the same. He had to remind himself that others, even his comrades, might find it strange or uncomfortable if he’s too tactual, so he always made sure to keep himself in check. But he got closer to Iron Bull in these past few months and he was never uncomfortable in his company – quite the opposite.

A whiff of Bull’s scent hit his nose; it was an earthy scent, with a mixture of sand and only a hint of blood from his enemies. But despite Dorian’s numerous complaints, Nym didn’t find it unpleasant. _*He smells good,*_ a lone thought escaped him before he could restrain it. He shuddered, and realized it had nothing to do with the chill in the air. Bull’s warmth, strong arms, and his scent – all of this enveloped the elf until his tired mind was drowned by it, feeling allured.

“…and you just _feel_ the ground shake beneath your feet,” Bull continued his passionate rant, then stopped and blinked in interest when he saw Nym completely in a daze. “Uhh, Boss?” He didn’t seem to be listening at all – or reacting for that matter. Actually, it felt like he was dozing off with his face buried in Bull’s side, even though he was standing.

The Qunari chuckled, “You should’ve told me to just shut up and let you sleep.”

“Mnot asleep…,” he let out a muffled, barely comprehensible, whine.

Another amused chuckle from Bull brought a pleasant rumble throughout his chest and sides that Nymrodel could feel. The vibrations only lulled him deeper into slumber.

Bull was still holding the little elf close and couldn’t help but tease him as he saw the other snuggle into him cutely. He leaned down, close to his long ear, and whispered in a soft murmur, “Should I carry you to bed?” He purposely made his tone sound salacious, making the implication hard to miss.   

“Mmmnyes..,” came Nym’s instant response before the meaning of the words truly sunk in. When it finally connected to his brain, enough for him to realize something wasn’t right, he blinked some of the drowsiness away. Realizing what just happened, and what he was doing, he quickly pushed himself off Bull, almost stumbling and falling onto his ass from how fast he pulled away. “What?! No! I’m fine. I just…I got tired,” he stammered in panic. His heart was racing so fast he thought he was having a heart attack.

Bull bellowed in laughter, completely unfazed by Nym’s overreaction. He looked amused more than anything. “I noticed,” he finally managed to squeeze out through his chuckles, which died out into snickers.

Beyond embarrassed, Lavellan swallowed hard. He was mortified, unable to form coherent sentences. _*Just explain…say something. Say anything! Oh blessed Creators, I’ll never be able to speak to him again, will I?*_ He started to explain, “S-sorry, I was just…You see in my Clan skinship is…” _*What in the Beyond am I even trying to say,*_ he screamed in his mind. He was just making this worse!

Bull watched him patiently for a while, then snorted in laughter again. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Nym, just…relax. It’s ok. I’m not angry or anything.” He didn’t often call him by his name, but he hoped it would calm the fidgety elf down. Nym’s ears twitched at the sound of his own name and he stopped rambling, though his shoulders remained tense.

“Just pretend that never happened,” the elf blurted out, trying to act resolute despite wanting to run away. _This_ bothered him, yet he had no problem facing demons and certain death on a daily basis. What was this Qunari doing to him!?

Bull huffed in amusement, but nodded without argument, “Will do.”

Turning on his heels, his back completely stiff, Lavellan started to walk away from the other man, heading to his quarters. _*Just act casual and don’t look back. Whatever you do, don’t look back,_ * he kept repeating to himself. He could feel Bull’s smirking stare burning into the back of his neck, but kept his eyes straight ahead as he escaped the scene.

~…..~

That night, the elf was tossing and turning in his bed again, but it wasn’t due to one of his usual nightmares. It wasn’t the Clan, or his father and Sei, or Corypheus he saw in his dreams, but the Ben-Hassrath Qunari.

He watched as the Iron Bull towered over him, with a burning gaze in his one darkened eye – an expression he never saw him wear before. He realized he was sitting at the edge of his bed in his quarters, making the dream appear that much realistic. Nym didn’t even realize this _was_ a dream, yet he moved without any conscious decision to do so. 

 Or rather, he let himself be moved by the Qunari. Bull pressed a hand on his chest and pushed him down on the bed, leaning over him dangerously. A gasp of surprise escaped him, before he shuddered at the strange feeling that coursed through his body, yet he didn’t resist.

He could smell that earthy scent, _Bull’s_ scent, all around him. Those large hands moved up and down his torso as if mapping every part of it. And it all excited him. “Wait..,” he tried to deny the feelings bubbling from within, but he didn’t push the large Qunari away.

His plea fell on deaf ears as Bull suddenly gripped his shirt and easily ripped it open, leaving nothing but tattered pieces of cloth on his bare skin. “Ah!” The elf yelped in surprise, then shivered when those large hands groped his bare skin.

Leaning down to his ear, Bull gave a teasing lick on the sensitive skin there, making the elf whimper. “You don’t really want me to wait…Tell me what you want,” he spoke for the first time. His breath was hot and his voice husky. It was a tone he never heard Bull use in reality, but his desire was strong enough to dream it up perfectly.

Nym opened his mouth but no voice came out from his trembling lips. He didn’t know what to say. His mind was in a daze.

He heard the Qunari growl, and suddenly his pants were ripped apart in the same fashion. “Huh?!” Nym looked down and gasped as Bull yanked the rest of the thorn clothing off him. “W-wait,” he pleaded again, seeing he was laid bare. He flushed in embarrassment, even more so when he realized he was completely naked – and despite his better judgment – completely hard.

A clanking sound entered his ears and he looked up to realize Bull was slowly unbuckling his belt and sliding it out of his pants. The elf gulped hard, somehow knowing exactly what was about to happen.

Then the Qunari leaned closer again, pinning him on the bed by the shoulders and sliding his large hands down until he gripped Nym’s wet cock. The elf groaned as Bull started to stroke him slowly. “Admit it...Admit what you want,” the demanding, hoarse voice of the Qunari came out in an order. Inconceivably, that only excited Nym more. He couldn’t control his body at all. Even when both of Bull’s hands gripped his thighs and pulled them apart, Nym did nothing to try and push him away.

Bull pulled him closer towards his hips and he shivered in anticipation. _*I’ll be raped,*_ he realized in panic. Yet his mind was muddled. Why wasn’t he resisting? Why wasn’t he trying to break free, or run, or fight back?

The Qunari murmured in his sensitive ear, “Nym…” It was the only thing he said before he thrust himself deep inside the elf, cruelly, in one quick motion. Such a thing should’ve brought nothing but pain. It should’ve torn the small elf apart. Yet none of that happened. Instead of pain, Nymrodel was hit by a wave of pleasure. He arched his back, tilting his head backwards as he grasped at the sheets. Haring Bull say his name in that aroused voice only excited him further, drowning his body into ecstasy.

Bull was relentless and merciless in his thrusts, not even slowing down for a second.

“S-stop…! No! Ahhn! Noo! Bull!” Nym shouted, but his every cry sounded like a moan until he was too confused to understand if he wanted it to stop or continue. The ache in his member felt real. He couldn’t understand what was happening, couldn’t catch up, but he felt his legs spread open more for the Qunari. A keen of pleasure broke out of him. _*I’m having sex with Bull. Why am I-*_

“Ah!” His mind was racing, but he couldn’t think from the pleasurable ache building up in his groin. He clutched at Bull’s biceps, clawing at his arms as he drew closer to the finish.

Then Bull took his wrists in his one hand and pinned them above his head, making the elf tremble in excitement. Never stopping his merciless pace, he leaned in close to his ear. He kept pounding into him as he growled in his ear, “You _want_ to be dominated. You _want_ to be subdued.” That was the last drop. Nym tipped his head back again and groaned loudly in pleasure.

Almost simultaneously, he woke up with wide eyes. Breathing hard and covered in sweat, he was trying to understand where he was and what was happening. The dream was still too vivid in his mind and waking up in the same bed as the one in his dream only made him more perplexed. Perhaps bewildered would be a better term. Or mortified. Nym currently had a flurry of emotions to choose from, all writhing inside of him.

A wet feeling beneath his blanket broke his bafflement and his eyes traveled down his body, peeking into his underwear. There was a wet mess on his groin, a stain which made him realize he came from his dream. Completely stunned, he was unable to process this information; He just had a wet dream…about _the Iron Bull_. About Bull _raping_ him! And he came because of it!”

Losing all strength, his head fell back on the pillow and he stared at the dark ceiling, his mind in chaos. The fantasy (No, a _dream_ , not a fantasy! The last thing he needed was this to become some reoccurring thing) kept replaying in his mind.

_*I don’t understand… I’m not a masochist. I don’t even like pain! So why would I have such thoughts? What’s wrong with me!?*_ It’s not like he wanted to be raped. Just imagining anyone else doing that to him felt sickening and he was certain he wouldn’t stand for it. So why was it so arousing when it was the Iron Bull looming over him?

Still deep in thoughts, he got up and walked over to the full washbowl to clean himself up.

There were so many aspects of this dream that worried him. It was the first time he had a sexual dream about another man. He mulled over that fact for a while. The Dalish, or at least his clan, never put any boundaries on gender when it came to love. As long as the partners respected each other and cared for one another, they had the Keeper’s blessing. Procreation was important, of course, but it’s not like Clan Lavellan was dying out so they had to worry about such things. His Clan even had a same-sex couple and a few members who didn’t have a problem with courting either gender. Nym realized he wasn’t uncomfortable with the thought of being with another man, even though he never had such an interest in one before. Personally, he felt what mattered for attraction was his interest in a person, even if that person was another man.

His mind abruptly backtracked. _*Is that it? Am I attracted to Bull?*_

He did admire the man. Ironically, although being a spy for the Qunari, Iron bull was open and straightforward - Nym found that refreshing. Almost everybody else either wanted something from him or wanted to shove their opinions down his throat, but not Bull. The man didn’t judge, wasn’t condescending, and was always understanding. He gave his opinions, said his piece when asked, but never pressured the Inquisitor to think like him or agree with him. Nym felt he could truly talk to the man without worrying about the other thinking badly of him. He didn’t have to be afraid that what he says would anger the Qunari, even if their opinions differed. He wasn’t judged for his beliefs or his heritage as a Dalish. He felt safe and could relax around the giant, however improbable that might seem. The Iron Bull let him just be _him_ ; not the almighty Inquisitor, but simply Nymrodel Lavellan. There was a complete trust between them on the battlefield. He knew the big guy always had his back, no matter what, so he didn’t have to worry even when they were outnumbered. Honestly, just being with Iron Bull was fun; talking, exchanging battlefield stories, learning about the Qunari, Iron Bull’s bad jokes and the way he was with the Chargers; Nym loved all of it. The Iron Bull was unlike anyone he’s ever met.

But even if there _was_ an attraction for the Qunari, as unprofessional as that would be; what unnerved him much more was how he was taken in his dream.

Bull’s words from his dream entered his mind again; _“You want to be dominated. You want to be subdued.”_ Those words made him shiver as an unusual feeling gripped his chest. He couldn’t understand it. He wanted to be _dominated_? That was ridiculous! He was the Inquisitor – the leader of a powerful Orlesian organization. Every day he needed to show his followers that they were in good, trustworthy hands. That he was in control. His pride alone wouldn’t let anyone bring him down to his knees – both literally and metaphorically.

Sighing loudly, he tried to clear his mind as he leaned on the dresser. His head was dipped low, his eyes closed shut. He could still feel Bull’s rugged hands on him. And that low baritone voice in his ear. He snarled in frustration, peeved and trying to get the images out of his mind. It appeared they were burned right behind his eyelids, showing him licentious scenes every time he closed his eyes.  

All of his thoughts on sex were mostly theoretical, anyway, since he didn’t have much experience on the matter. After all, he was still a virgin and pretty inexperienced – a fact he would only grudgingly admit. Since he spent most of his days training and was generally pretty clumsy when it came to admitting his feelings, it was hard finding a proper lover. Not that he was really looking – it always seemed like there were more important things to worry about. Sure, he knew how sex worked, even between men, in theory. Men in Clan Lavellan talked and boasted just like any other guys. He had a few experiences with some of the elven girls from his clan, but they never went all the way. And he never had any practice with men, especially where he would have to take on the part of the girl.

“Aaah! This is so confusing!” His hands kneaded his tangled white hair, making an even bigger mess of it. Was he just adding too much meaning to all of this? The dream unnerved him, sure, but perhaps it was just a one-time thing. Maybe it was just a consequence from talking to Bull before bedtime when he was exhausted. They did end things on a rather awkward note. _*Or maybe I’m just pent up? It’s true I didn’t really have time to take care of myself lately,*_ he sighed mentally. He was either busy with paperwork or constantly on the road.

_*Just forget it,*_ he finally decided. He ordered himself to put the dream in a drawer way back in his consciousness and never open it again. Dragging his feet, he crawled back to bed, knowing he had a few more hours of rest and not wanting to waste them. _*Just don’t think about it anymore. Maybe I should put some distance between Bull and myself. That could be for the best…only until I sort out these weird feelings,*_ he concluded, closing his tired eyes again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian made a pun at which he would usually roll his eyes. (When the author has a disturbing love for bad puns and makes the characters in the story go along with it. Bull understands me, right buddy?)  
> Anyway, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! :)


	19. Dragonslayers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebrating their first dragonslaying...among other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, I was pretty tired and unfocused when I proofread this chapter, so I really hope there aren't any mistakes left...  
> Anyway, enjoy the new chapter!  
> Warning: Slight NSFW in this chapter!

 

“Today is a good day. Today is a _very_ good day!” Bull’s excited proclamation carried on the desert wind.

They stood on a sandy clearing, the blazing sun high up, surrounded by the ruins of some ancient temple that even had Grey Warden relics from the Second Blight. But currently, antiques were the last thing on Nymrodel’s mind.

They set up the dragon lures just like Professor Frederic told them to, and now all they could do was wait.

It wasn’t long before they heard the first screech, and Lavellan’s pointy ears perked up as they caught the sound. He squinted his eyes and noticed a small dot in the distance. It was drawing closer at an impressive rate, getting bigger as it approached. He didn’t have to guess to know what it was; a high dragon – the one that had been terrorizing the Western Approach. When the Inquisition soldiers started worrying it would attack the Griffon Keep, Nym had no choice but to take a party with him and go deal with the dragon. Luckily, the Orlesian Draconologist gave them advice on how to lure the beast, although he wasn’t as helpful when Nym asked how to defeat it.

Varric was just as pale as he was, although he mentioned killing a minor dragon and its spawn with Hawke once. He did have faith in Cassandra since she came from an old lineage of Nevarran Dragon hunters, and apparently defeated a dragon before. Solas and Dorian just grimaced at the incoming creature, unenthusiastic about fighting it. The only one who was completely beside himself, grinning from ear to ear, was the Qunari warrior. Iron Bull was beaming as he watched the dragon approach. As it let out another loud roar, he laughed in excitement.

“Boss, I want you to know: you're the best,” the Qunari gave Nym a grateful expression, sounding touched for being able to take part in this.

The elf laughed nervously, sweat visible on his temple as the Abyssal High Dragon approached them. He cleared his throat to try and wash away his anxiousness, “Alright, here’s the plan! Varric and Bianca,” he started, - great, now he’s starting to treat the crossbow like a person too – “target the muscle that connects the wing with the body. If we do enough damage to it, we might be able to ground the dragon and prevent it from flying away. Once grounded, aim for its eyes.”

“Got it! We’ll be ready,” the dwarf responded, patting his trusted weapon.

 “Mages, keep up our barriers and heal if necessary – right now that is your priority even more than dealing damage,” Nym continued.

“You can count on us, Inquisitor,” Solas nodded.

He looked back at the warriors, “We’ll keep the dragon preoccupied. Try to injure its legs to cripple its movement.”

Another shriek echoed as the dragon finally arrived, lured by the fresh meat Nym and his group left lying on the ground. The ground shook as it landed, creating a large cloud of sand around it. It sniffed at the fresh blood of the animals, but then another scent caught in its nostrils. They flared as the dragon turned its head, its sharp eyes focusing on living prey nearby. It hissed dangerously, stalking towards the Inquisition group. As it moved, its tail slammed into a pillar behind it, collapsing it to the ground.

“Oh, would you look at that! That is _magnificent_!” Bull laughed, still overly excited by this fight.

 “Alright everyone, you know what to do. If we work together, we might survive this!” Cassandra called out, raising her shield and sword.

“How optimistic,” Dorian mumbled sarcastically.

“And one last thing,” Nym started. “Don’t get eaten.”

The dragon was fully aware of its hostile invaders now and it roared in warning towards them. Opening its mouth, it presented them with a full view of its large, razor-sharp teeth – its strong maw could easily grind them into pieces.

 Nym, Cassandra and Iron Bull charged towards it, while the rest of the group stayed behind as support. As soon as it saw them, the dragon started accumulating fire in its throat. It opened its maw, the blazing fire lighting up its insides as it traveled through the long throat. Just as the dragon was about to spit out the fire, Iron Bull ran up and swung his heavy weapon, letting out a battle cry. The axe slammed into the side of its jaw, the head flying sideways from the impact, just as it breathed fire. Instead of turning them to ash, the fire missed, scorching the sand and rock on the other side.

Cassandra aimed for the front leg, hacking at the hard scales with her longsword. The dragon’s dark red skin was like natural armor, impervious to most attacks. But Cassandra was an experienced warrior, so she aimed at the tendons and other softer parts of the animal’s hide that she could reach.

However, the beast didn’t make it easy for them. It flailed its large wings around, protecting itself from Varric’s bolts. The dwarf aimed for the wing muscles, but the intelligent animal kept them well-protected with its wings.

 Nym rushed forward, dodging a clawed swipe as he slid down beneath the dragon. His dual daggers were sharpened and ready, and he glanced up at the dragon’s underside. He stabbed up with his weapons, trying to rip through the hard flesh.

The beast felt the sting, even if he didn’t cut through much, and quickly raised on its hind legs, flapping its enormous wings.

He only managed to curse in elven before he was blown away by the powerful gust of wind created by the dragon’s trashing. He was brought to the ground and stayed low, hoping it would help in avoiding the rubble attracted by the wild gusts of wind that was currently flying towards him. A rock passed right over his head and fell right at the dragon’s feet – where Nym was slowly being pulled into. He stabbed his daggers into the ground when he felt himself sliding backwards, but he couldn’t find a good hold on the sandy surface. His weapons kept slipping out and he was getting dangerously close to the dragon.

Varric couldn’t hold out against the pulling wind either. He managed to shoot one more bolt before being thrown to the ground. With the dragon’s wings spread, his bolt hit right in the mark – the wing muscle. The strong bolt went in, penetrating the hardened skin and lodging itself deep in the tissue. The beast roared in anger and pain, stopping its wild trashing. Its wing twitched as it tried to use it, but the animal couldn’t spread the wing wholly without sharp pain coursing through it.

“Now!” Cassandra yelled and rose back to her feet, stabbing her sword with all her might into its leg joint.

Simultaneously, Bull hacked at the same leg from the other side.

The beast roared in pain again, stumbling to the side as its balance was interrupted. It raised its head and summoned another breath of fire, eyes blazing towards the two warriors.

Solas quickly called his earth magic and raised a wall from the ground, made of hard rock and sand. The wall then bent like a sphere, shielding both Bull and Cassandra on the inside, as the dragon breathed out its flaming attack.

Nym managed to avoid it by jumping between its hind legs and taking cover behind the dragon. He saw it raise its wounded leg to spare it, still breathing fire onto the earth wall while it balanced on three legs. He decided now was the time to act. Rushing towards the hind leg, on the opposite side of the already-wounded front one, he slashed with both daggers at the back of it. He continued to slash at the same spot, gradually opening up the strong hide and deepening the wound.

The beast stopped breathing fire as its back leg gave out and it collapsed to the ground with all its weight. The impact shook the ground, and Nym was almost crushed beneath the heavy body. He managed to dodge by somersaulting backwards.

Just as he landed on the ground, he saw the dragon recuperating and turning its attention towards him. With the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of red flying his way. The beast’s spiked tail approached him with speed, thus he quickly put his forearms in front of him so he could absorb at least some of the impact. Luckily for him, Dorian saw his predicament and summoned a barrier on him just before the hit. The tail easily swept him off his feet and flung him backwards. The magical barrier absorbed the bone-crushing impact, but he still felt the collision that made his teeth rattle. Air rushing out of his lungs, he fell to his back with a pained grunt.

Menacingly, the dragon growled, about to bite at the elf and tear him to pieces. Before it had the chance, a large bolt of lightning summoned by the Tevinter hit its head and shocked it to its core. Both the dragon and the elf were dazed for a while, recovering from their respective blows.

The beast shook its head to get rid of the electricity’s aftermaths, while Nym staggered back to his feet and tightly gripped his daggers.

It tried lunging at him again, but as it moved to bite him, a crossbow bolt hit it right in the eye, earning a sharp shriek. It jerked its head back in pain, just as Nym jumped into a side roll. Still in a crouch, he flung two throwing knives at the same eye. One hit right into the iris, while the other pierced directly above the eyelid. Letting out a loud growl from the sudden pain, it jolted backwards again.

Meanwhile, Bull took the opportunity of the dragon’s lowered, outstretched neck to bring his axe down onto it. He jumped in the air and slammed into the neck with all his weight. “Taarsidath-an halsaam,” he shouted as the axe cut through tough flesh.

Its head slammed into the ground and it whined in pain. In a final attempt to defend itself, the dragon managed to rise and lash out with its tail, but this time the group was ready. They flung themselves to the ground, ducking below the armored appendage.

The creature roared, wounded and bleeding profoundly. It was surrounded, its wing too injured for it to flee. Every time it would attack one of its opponents, someone else would strike at it from another side.

Slowly, the Inquisition group managed to wear it down enough that it could hardly defend itself. Cassandra stabbed just below the wing, injuring it further. The leather on its wings was already riddled by Varric’s bolts.

In one last, desperate attempt, the dragon called forth the fire from deep within its belly. Anticipating this, Nymrodel had climbed up its wing and onto its back while the dragon was preoccupied with fighting off the warriors. When it opened its maws to breathe fire again, the elf jumped from its back and onto the head, stabbing both his daggers into its wounded eye. His daggers pushed the bolt already inside, far enough to reach the animal’s brain. With a choked growl, the beast trashed for a few moments before collapsing to the ground. He kept his balance despite the toppling body and straightened up. Seeing it was finally over, he huffed in fatigue, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

Below, Bull gazed up at the form standing on top of the beast as it went down. He saw a sight to behold – an elf, lithe in stature, yet standing confidently on the head of a defeated dragon. The sun reflected on his snow–white hair as he cast a shadow onto the desert sand. His weapons dangled at his side, still dripping with the dragon’s blood. Even someone like Iron Bull was impressed by the majestic image in front of him. He smiled at the sight, thinking the Inquisitor never looked as powerful as he did at that moment.

Nym expertly slid along the beast’s side and gracefully landed back on to the ground.

He was exhausted, panting and covered in sand, sweat and dragon blood. While trying to catch his breath, he sheathed his daggers. “I can’t believe…we made it…,” he panted out in disbelief.

He heard Bull’s loud roar of victory as the Qunari laughed loudly. “Yeees! See the way everything lit up when it tried to fry us?” He laughed heartily, completely elated. “Now that is a fight!”

The reaver grinned at the others, expecting them to be equally thrilled. Most of them were just glad they didn’t get eaten.

“Yes, we didn’t get roasted. Hooray for us.” Dorian rolled his eyes at the overly-gleeful Qunari.

“I do not think there is anything to celebrate about killing such an ancient and majestic being. It was necessary, yes, but still unfortunate,” Solas added with a frown.

Nymrodel had mixed feeling about it. He felt pride at beating a beast of such magnitude. It was raw power in undiluted form, yet they managed to overcome it. But as much as he felt a sense of accomplishment from it, a part of him was remorseful they had to do it. The dragon was dangerous, they had to kill it, but it was also magnificent and beautiful. Knowing it will never again soar through the skies, left Nym feeling like the world was a little lesser for it. 

“Imagine how much the Inquisition can get out of supplies and materials from the carcass, though,” the elven hunter said with a greedy glint in his eyes. Just thinking about all the armor and weapons they could forge with dragon bones and its scales was what got _him_ excited.

“What about you, Cass? You’re from a family of Dragon hunters. Did you feel your heart pumping? Did you breathe a little faster, felt the blood racing?” The Qunari stared at her in anticipation.

Cassandra smirked, “What was the alternative? Relax and let it kill us?”

He laughed, but asked sincerely again, “No, seriously.”

The woman thought for a while, then responded with an apologizing tone, “I... felt no great calling in my blood. Sorry to disappoint.” She shrugged.

The grey giant frowned in disgruntlement, “Damn…”

Varric laughed at the sight. The Qunari looked like a saddened puppy that had been kicked. “Too bad, Tiny. Guess nobody shares your enthusiasm,” the dwarf taunted.

Folding his arms on his chest, Nym tilted his head in thought, “I guess the fact that we actually managed to defeat a dragon _is_ pretty cool.”

“Right!?” Bull grinned.

The roguish elf smiled. “Hey, do you think I can add ‘Dragonslayer’ to the list of my titles now? That’s one I’d actually be comfortable with.”

The Seeker chuckled, “I think you would need a bit more experience in dragon hunting first…and a few more dragon slayings under your belt.”

Bull and Nym glanced at each other, both sharing the same decisive look.

“Was that a challenge? I hope that was a challenge,” the Qunari asked him.

 “Just a heads up; when I do hunt down enough dragons I will officially request that we be renamed the Dragonslaying team,” Nym announced.

“That sounds awful! We need to work on that name, Snow,” Varric exclaimed with a laugh.

The Tevinter mage groaned in mental pain. “Oh, great, so this will become a thing then – opening a dragon hunting season. We’re forming teams? Getting matching shirts?”

Solas sighed and shook his head disapprovingly, “Dragons deserve better than this….”

Nym was still trying to find a suitable name, laughing with his friends, and for just a second he forgot all about the awkwardness he felt near Iron Bull lately – and then he remembered. That first strange dream that he hoped would be a onetime thing turned out to be anything but. Since then, the reoccurring dreams of Bull having his way with him happened almost every night. Lavellan tried everything to stop them, including avoiding the Qunari, yet nothing helped. He was reached the end of his rope, desperate for these confusing feelings to leave him be.

However, it was hard to avoid the Iron Bull. The man was a presence that simply refused to be ignored. He went with them on missions, joked around with the crew, played Wicked Grace with Varric and the agents, or drank together in the makeshift tavern they built in the Keep – he was _everywhere_.

His laughter was interrupted as his breath hitched at the thought, which he quickly masked with a cough. He nervously cleared his throat, suddenly feeling restless as his eyes met Bull’s. He hurriedly looked away and suggested, “We should probably get back to the Keep.”

His sudden change in behavior didn’t go unnoticed by the Qunari spy, especially when he tried to move away from Bull without meeting his gaze. The Qunari frowned, but made no remark at Nym’s abrupt change in demeanor.

“I’ll let Scout Harding know that she can come with a team to harvest the carcass,” Cassandra said, ending the awkward atmosphere.

~…..~

Nym was exhausted, but this time it had nothing to do with the battles in the Western Approach. He was tired, yet was afraid to fall asleep due to his prurient dreams.

_“You want to be subdued,”_ Bull’s gruff voice echoed in his mind.

Frustrated at himself, he flumped on the bed with a growl. Why was this happening to him? Why Bull, and why now? Lavellan was filled with questions, yet had no answers.

Did he have some kind of rape fetish? In all his dreams, Bull would pin him down, his strong muscled arms holding him in place as he took him mercilessly. No matter how much Nym begged, he wouldn’t let him go. He wouldn’t stop. The elf bit his bottom lip at the memories, his vision glazing over. He gasped when he caught himself, and quickly dismissed those fantasies. * _Now I’m plagued by them while I’m awake, too,*_ he sighed in defeat.   

He was sure that if someone truly tried to sully him, he would fight to the death against them. He was certain he wouldn’t let Bull rape him in real life either. Although, as intimidating as the large Qunari could be, he didn’t believe Iron Bull would ever do that to him. Furthermore, just imagining anyone else trying to touch him sexually seemed…wrong. He didn’t have any kink for pain either. He didn’t even like pain. There was never any hurt in his dreams, but he was certain if the giant truly entered him with his large body so suddenly, he would feel nothing but anguish. The suffering would probably be unbearable and Nym found no pleasure in imagining it. But that just confused him more. Why have such fantasies then? What did he truly desire? His own mind made no sense to him. He felt like there was something deep within the recesses of his mind, trying to reach the surface and tell him – as if the answer was on the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn’t reach it. Or maybe he didn’t want to? Perhaps, he was too afraid to admit what he really wanted so it was easier to stay blind to it.

The main problem was that he was getting bashful near Bull all of a sudden. He couldn’t help but remember Qunari’s hot breath on him or his arms around him, whenever their eyes met. If this goes on, he won’t be able to interact with the man at all. Nym didn’t want that; he considered Bull a trusted friend and comrade in arms. He always enjoyed spending time with the warrior or fighting side-by-side, and he didn’t want to lose that because of his mixed up notions. He couldn’t understand his own feelings anymore.

_*Feelings for Bull?*_ His mind backtracked. Well, the man was pretty great…and trustworthy, strong, and he had that heartwarming loud laugh that seemed to lit up the whole room-, he suddenly stopped himself. _*Wait, no, no, no, stop it Nym, you’re doing it again! Don’t think about him in that way!*_ And yet his devious mind continued, _*Plus, his brawny body looks really sexy; with all those tattoos and scars,*_ the elf caught himself thinking. Wincing, he rubbed his face into the bedsheets and hoped to suffocate in them, “Enough already!” He _refused_ to admit he had any romantic feelings for the Iron Bull. It couldn’t be possible! Not for the loud Qunari who liked casual sex and practiced it with every servant girl in Skyhold.

Nym was brought out of his dismal musings when he heard approaching footsteps. His ears instinctively twitched, turning slightly towards the sound. The expected knock came and Nym wondered for a second did he really want to meet with anyone in this sorry state. Then he remembered he was the Inquisitor and didn’t really have a choice if it was something important. “Come in,” he called out in a sour tone.

At least it wasn’t the man of his dreams – literally. Instead, Dorian walked in with his usual sparkling confidence. He had a mischievous smile on his face, one that Nym definitely didn’t like.

In contrast, the elf’s pale face was completely devoid of mirth. “What?” He frowned at Dorian in suspicion when the mage’s smile only widened, a devilish glint in his light brown eyes.

“The agents found something in the Keep while they were rebuilding. Something the Venatori left behind,” he started.

_*Oh, it must be something useful,*_ Nym breathed a relieved sigh, then sat up on his bed. The signs of his joy quickly vanished when Dorian pulled something out. It looked like a piece of clothing, since he definitely saw pants, but couldn’t really decipher the rest. And Dorian’s dubious smirk definitely didn’t help matters.

“Umm…what is that?”

“It’s Qunari armor. _Light_ armor – for you,” the human explained simply. “It’s too small for me. Plus, this dark blue isn’t really my color.”

It had ropes. Cloth, leather and _ropes_. Nymrodel couldn’t stop staring at it, with a comically baffled expression. “I think light armor is an understatement. There’s _no_ armor on this,” he finally snapped, standing up in the process.

Yet Dorian remained unusually persistent about it.  He shrugged, “What can I tell you; Qunari have awful tastes…now try it on.”

“If you think it’s awful, why are you giving it to me?”

The mage’s eyes glammed deviously, “How can I _not_ see this armor and be interested in how it fits you?!”

“If you want to see it so badly on someone, _you_ wear it!”

“It’s too small for me,” came Dorian’s instant reply.

“But it’s _rope_!”

“So you’ve said.”

“I am _not_ wearing that,” the elf wouldn’t give in.

“It might be pretty good armor. Maybe it has some hidden properties. There must be a reason why Qunari mages and assassins wear it,” the mage tried a logical approach.

Nym wasn’t buying it. He narrowed his eyes accusingly, “You’re just trying to get me to wear it.” Frowning, he reverted his gaze on the strange piece of clothing as he broke the long silence, “ _Does_ it have hidden properties?”

_*Gotcha,*_ the Tevinter gloated as he saw Nym grab the bait after all. “There’s only one way to find out.” He stepped closer to the elf, shoving the armor in his chest.

Extremely reluctantly, he took the dark blue armor in his hands. “Why is it so small – if it’s Qunari armor, shouldn’t it be enormous?”

“It could be this is some Tevinter prototype. A copy. I am certain I saw Qunari wear them before. Perhaps the Venatori were trying to make their own version of it. When you think about it, this light armor might be far more comfortable in this desert climate than that thick coat you always wear,” the sly mage continued coaxing him on.

He sighed, “Alright already, you don’t need to sell it further. I’ll try it on!” In truth, he just wanted his friend off his back and he could see in Dorian’s excited eyes he wasn’t letting this one go easily.

“I’ll wait in the hall,” the man exclaimed, clearing his throat to try and mask his amusement.

“I know what you’re trying to do!” Nym yelled after him as the mage disappeared out of the room and closed to door behind him. “I don’t get what’s so special about it…or why _I_ have to try it on. Should’ve given it to Sera or something, she likes Qunari stuff…,” the elf kept on grumbling even as the Tevinter left. He turned towards the only mirror in the room – it was stained and old, but tall enough for his whole body to reflect in it.

 The pants were easy enough to get into, although he noticed they were a bit baggy on him. _*Too small my ass! If this is too big for me, it would fit Dorian perfectly,*_ he complained, feeling agitated by the mage. He became certain Dorian just wanted to see him wear this damn strange thing.

 His initial confidence after getting into the pants was completely shattered as he stared at the top. It had leather chestplates, but he couldn’t figure out which side was the front one. It only became more complicated from there. After wearing the chestplate on the wrong side of his torso, he pulled a hand through the ropes, while trying to decipher the roped collar it had. In the end all he managed was to entangle himself in the blue-colored rope. He almost suffocated himself at one point when he moved his arm that connected to the collar rope around his neck, and pulled on it. That would have been the saddest death in the history of Thedas; he could see the city criers shouting the headlines already, _“The Inquisitor hung himself with Qunari armor!”_

Dorian burst back in without knocking, “Are you ready yet? If I wait any longer, I’ll get grays-!” He stopped and blinked at the sight as the elf turned towards him with the most pitiful expression he ever saw him wear.

Lavellan was completely entangled by the ropes, his arms trapped against his torso, with his head tilted on the side uncomfortably. “Help…”

The mage broke into laughter, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes. “Hahaha! How did you manage this!?”

“Stop laughing and help me!” Nym shouted in return, somewhere between angry and desperate.

Dorian stepped closer, mulling over his predicament as he circled around the rogue. He tried to pull on the rope, but that only tightened another part somewhere on Nym’s trapped body.

“Ow, ow, ow!” The elf whined as he felt the thick strings uncomfortably cut deeper into his skin. He was going to have some bizarre marks after this.

Seeing he was only making it worse, the human stopped. He sighed in resignation. “Alright. We need help from a professional here,” he concluded.

Nym titled his head in question when he saw Dorian turn to leave. “Wait, don’t just leave me like this!”

“I’ll be back with help,” the mage casually called out, already on his way out on the hall.

“What help?” He shouted back, but got no answer. The last thing he needed was for someone in the Inquisition to see him like this – the rumors would spread throughout the Keep in less than a day. It was bad enough that he’d probably need to wear _a lot_ of clothing to conceal the angry marks the ropes will leave, and in this heat no less. His easily-stained pale skin was already starting to get red from the chaffing in some areas.

He sighed in surrender after struggling to get himself free once more, but to no avail. Even as a skilled rogue, this was one trap he couldn’t get out of. “Stupid Qunari armor…and curse Dorian for making me wear it…,” he muttered under his breath.

As if summoned by his cursing, Dorian walked back in, “I brought help.”

Nym looked up in hope, only for it to be squashed in an instant. All color drained from his face, making his vallaslin stand out even more.

His blue eyes locked with Iron Bull’s grey one, and for a moment they just stared at each other in silence. The Qunari’s eye was wide in surprise, evidently not getting enough information from Dorian about the situation.

“Is that Antaam-saar,” he asked, trying not to burst out laughing at the sight in front of him.

Nym opened his mouth to respond, but Dorian was faster, “Yes. Although, this wasn’t quite how I imagined this to go down,” he added, biting his lip with a grimace.

“Just get me out of this bloody thing,” the elf growled, losing his patience. Of all the people Dorian could bring, it had to be the last person Nymrodel wanted to see right now, or be seen by in this ridiculous position.

The Tevinter must’ve caught onto his irate, because he tried to inconspicuously run away. He turned on his heels. “I’ll just leave you to it then.”

“Hold it,” came Nym’s instant call. As much as he was irritated by the mage, being left alone with Bull was even worse, knowing what kind of mess was in his head lately. After all, he was trying hard not to cross any boundaries with the Qunari. “Don’t you dare run away now.”

Dorian’s mustache twitched as he grimaced.

Bull laughed, unable to hold it in any longer. “It’s all good, Boss. I’ll get you out.” He turned to the mage dismissively, “Go before he bites your head off.”

“I knew there was at least one redeeming feature in you,” the Tevinter grinned at him in gratitude.

“Wait, no-,” Nym started to protest, but Dorian was already out the door, leaving him alone with the giant man. He huffed in dismay. Wasn’t he supposed to have better authority than this as the Inquisitor? Somehow it seemed that didn’t matter to his close group of friends. 

Bull chuckled and stepped forward, “Don’t worry, Boss. I’ll help you out. Turn around.” He gestured towards the mirror.

Hesitantly, Nym turned to gaze at his sorry tangled self in the mirror, seeing the large Qunari approach from behind. He was so big, his whole frame didn’t fit in the mirror. The elf gulped, suddenly feeling very conscious about the other’s presence near him. He tried to stay nonchalant, but he could feel his back stiffen when he felt Bull’s calloused fingers on his bare skin, working on the ropes.

He kept his breath, careful not to give his racing heartbeat away. Following Bull’s instructions without a word, he turned or leaned while the other untangled him. He just wanted it to be over as soon as possible.

“Alright, let’s try this again,” the Qunari smiled in amusement.

Nym was already screaming “No!” in his mind to the idea. “I-it’s alright, I don’t need it,” he protested.

“Come on. You wasted all this time on it, you might’s well do it right,” the Bull wouldn’t listen. “Sides, I’m sure Dorian is interest in seeing you in it,” he teasingly grinned.

“Who cares,” his deadpan reply was instant.

It was shot out so quickly, Bull couldn’t help but laugh again. When his laughter died down, he said with a smirk, “Hey, I wouldn’t mind seeing you in it, either.”

With a flinch, Nym gazed back at the mirror, trying to examine Bull’s face, but it was too high. All he could see was that defined, toned chest and broad shoulders. He gulped, * _Did he just…flirt?*_ Knowing Bull, it was nothing but a knee-jerk reaction, since the man flirted with everyone. _*He’s simply teasing me. I’m just overacting because of my unease,*_ he concluded.

But after that, relaxing became impossible. He felt Bull’s large fingers expertly working on his rope constraints, and wondered how he was so skilled at this. First he adjusted the “sleeves” which were just dark rope binds and knots. Then he turned the leather chestplate the right way and adjusted it on Nym’s torso before pulling on some more ropes and tightening it.

As it tightened against Lavellan’s chest, a small gasp escaped him. He instantly regretted it, feeling like some maiden who just got her corset tightened. The pointy ends of his ears felt hot as they turned red from embarrassment. Thankfully, if Bull heard the small noise, he didn’t comment on it.

 Iron Bull repressed a bemused chuckle when he heard the small elf gasp. He purposely pulled a bit harder on the ropes connected to the elf’s waist, earning a surprised squeak from him. It sounded cute; like some small animal caught in a trap. It made him want to harass the young elf some more, and he had to control himself not to bully him further by nipping the top of that pointy ear that was completely red by now. Nym kept his head down, trying to hide his flustered expression from view, so his slender ears pointed up even more than usual. They looked tauntingly delicious to bite.  

The Qunari leaned into one of the ears and spoke in a low tone, “There. All done.” He watched the elf’s face in the mirror, as Nym raised his head to look at himself before swallowing hard at their closeness.

Fortunately, Nym’s racy thoughts were momentarily forgotten when his own reflection caught his attention. He frowned at the ‘lack of armor’ on this armor. His flat stomach, for example, was completely exposed. “Is this really armor? Half of it is missing.”

Bull chuckled, “You need to remember; Par-Vollen is really hot and so are most of the lands we occupy. Besides, we don’t like our movement constrained in battle. Heavy armor is one thing, but too much armor makes it hard to move, and this is _light_ armor,” he explained. Antaam-saar was made for their quick troops like scouts or assassins, such as Nymrodel would be under the Qun.

Nym raised an eyebrow at the irony, “You don’t like to be _constrained_ with your armor, so you use rope?” What Iron Bulls said made sense, but he couldn’t get over the fact that he currently felt more tied up than protected.

The Qunari shrugged, then shrewdly grinned, “Not used to ropes, huh? It suits you, though.” He gave the elf a cagey smile. He rather liked how this outfit befitted the lean elf. He was starting to get all kinds of ideas for Nym and this armor, although he kept them to himself, knowing the Boss was quite shy when it came to flirting even as a joke.

His words made Nymrodel break out into a blush again. This time he was sure; Bull was _definitely_ flirting! But that was nothing unusual for the big Qunari – he flirted with Cassandra, the servants and agents in the Inquisition, even with Dorian sometimes. Usually, Nym wouldn’t think twice about the meaning behind it, but now he couldn’t get past it. Feeling Bull’s hands on him, the hard rope chafing his sensitive skin, the low voice in his ear…and adding Bull’s flirty attitude to all that; Nym felt like his heart would burst out of his chest with how strong it was beating. Heat spread through his body, despite his best efforts to drown it.

He kept his head low, his back turned to the Qunari as he refused to meet his eyes, “Thanks, I’ll uh…I’ll take it off myself,” he muttered.

Bull tilted his head in interest, noticing the tense change in the elf. “You sure you don’t need any help?” He asked teasingly, pushing just a bit more to see how the elf reacts.

He saw his shoulders stiffen, and a smirk spread on the Qunari’s lips.

“I’m sure. I’ll be fine,” the elf suddenly spun around, trying to hide his blushing cheeks as he practically pushed Iron Bull out of the room – or tried to, considering it was like attempting to push a giant boulder. 

The large man let himself be shoved out, though his smirk widened into a grin as he continued to tease the elf, “Should I call Dorian in? He said he wanted to see it.”

“Definitely not! You helped, now get out,” losing his cool, Nym bit back in impatience. He knew the Qunari was tormenting him on purpose.

Rather than being offended, Bull just laughed. He was pushed out to the hall and turned to take one last glance at the delectably tied up elf, “Personally, I think you should use this armor from now on, boss.” He simply couldn’t help but get one last jab in.

Nymrodel gave him a pointed stare, “Nuva Ghilan’nain then asa shud ove arsyl o’tarasyl, i dirash na in masa dur su an’banal!” He slammed the door in Bull’s face and leaned against it, sighing in relief.

Although he felt anything but relieved at the moment. He was glad for the baggy pants, or else Bull might’ve noticed the painful hardness in them. He fumbled with the exotic breeches until he finally managed to get them open, and pulled them down a bit. He hissed as the outside air hit the sensitive skin of his erection.

“Hnn.” Closing a hand around it, he started rubbing, shivering at the touch. Shutting his eyes, he recollected Bull’s rough fingertips on his skin. As he moved, the ropes on his body would repeatedly tighten and relax, bringing forth an unusual, but exciting sensation. He remembered what it felt like when Bull tightened the armor more, the way it squeezed his torso. At the time, he sounded more surprised than anything, but in his mind he could admit it felt good.

His hand stroked faster and his hips started swaying in the same rhythm, eager to find his release. He recalled Bull’s light flirting, the teasing smirk on his ruggedly handsome features, the low tone in his ear. “Hnnn, ah!” Nym shuddered, recollecting the man’s hot breath on his skin. He wanted Bull to grab him, tighten those ropes around him until he couldn’t escape, and fuck him then and there. He startled himself as that thought escaped the deep reaches of his mind. But it was far too late to try and rationalize it now.  

His hand was slick with precum, allowing to pump himself faster, until he finally reached the edge. The wet noises echoed in his ear, as if shaming him for doing something so lewd while thinking of his friend. Yet he couldn’t contain himself. “Bull!” He moaned, unable to stop the name from slipping out of his parted lips as he came with a hard shudder.

Panting, he watched the white mess staining his right hand. He just jerked off to one of his companions. That mortifying knowledge left him baffled, as he stared at his hand in a daze. He didn’t even realize he was this far gone already. He couldn’t deny it any longer.

_*I have feelings for Bull,*_ he realized. _*I want him.*_ He gulped, still trying to comprehend what that meant. He wasn’t sure, but the desire was there. The thrill of being pinned down, and the idea of being taken by the man he yearned for. To be manhandled by him as the other pleases. That was what drove him wild. He shivered at the turmoil inside of him, afraid of his own desires.

With a deep sigh, he shook his head, _*I can’t believe this. It’s like I’m some horny youth who didn’t even get his vallaslin yet.*_ He felt pitiful.

~……~

Despite his inner conflict, he needed to present himself as the ideal leader – the Inquisitor. Their missions couldn’t be compromised just because his heart was currently in chaos. So he decided to bury his doubts and emotions deep within and focus on his objective – reaching Skyhold.

In spite of his troubles with a certain Qunari, Lavellan was cheerful. After a long while dealing with all the dangerous crap in the Western Approach, it was finally time to return to Skyhold, and Nym was hoping there would be some word from his Clan there. It was one worry that never left him, always gnawing in the back of his mind, no matter what he was focused on. He couldn’t ignore it for much longer. A part of him was hesitant to hear the news, afraid it might be bad, but another part was itching for it and couldn’t live in suspense any longer. If he didn’t hear from Clan Lavellan soon and make sure they were alright, he was adamant to go to Wycome personally, and this time not even Cassandra would be able to stop him.

 The impatience must’ve been written on his face because Varric commented on it, “Eager to return to Skyhold?”

Nym nodded, “There must be some news from my Clan by now…right?”

The dwarf gave him a sympathetic look, “I’m sure Nightingale’s agents got to them in time, don’t worry.”

Staying silent, the elf pursed his lips together. Even if he was told not to worry, he couldn’t help it.

“Home is where you’re safe. If the home isn’t safe, then you don’t feel safe either,” Cole said out loud as he read Nymrodel’s mood.

“Ugh, how many times have I told you not to do that. Creepy, creepy, creepy!” Sera exclaimed, shouting at the strange blonde boy.

Nym smiled, but the mirth never reached his eyes. “It’s alright Sera, he’s right. My clan is my home. I can’t help but worry.”

The archer girl scrunched up her nose, chewing on her lip. “Ya see, that’s why I don’t stay long in one place; no strings attached.”

“That just sounds lonely,” Cassandra commented from the side and Nym agreed.

“Pfft,” the elven girl stuck her tongue out and made a blowing sound, her spit spraying everywhere; her way of calling poppycock and disagreeing with the Seeker.

Varric laughed, “But you’re with the Inquisition now. That’s some pretty strong strings right there,” he pointed out.

“That’s different. We got a common enemy; Coryphyspit!

“Corypheus,” Vivienne sighed as she corrected her.

“Coryphyshit,” the elven girl tried again though Nym was sure she was mispronouncing it on purpose.

“Close enough,” he shrugged.

“You’re not wearing your new armor,” Dorian’s voice rang out with mocking disappointment as he arrived to join them.

The Dalish glared at him, his vallaslin twisting around his furrowed eyebrows.

“And I so wanted to see you in it,” the mage continued to press.

“Keep it up and I’ll make _you_ wear it,” he smirked.

Dorian shook his head, “Far too unfashionable. Besides, a Tevinter mage wearing Qunari armor? What would people say,” he mused jokingly.

“Probably that it’s a vast improvement from the skirts you Vints usually wear,” a gruff voice joined in as the large Qunari approached them with a smirk.

Nym’s muscles went rigid when he heard him, before he willed himself to relax. He glanced at the other man, determined to keep his emotions in check, only for his collected demeanor to be shattered in an instant. Speaking of new armors, Bull was wearing one, perhaps also found in the Keep. It had more metal and leather than his previous heavy armor, but the darker colors perfectly complemented his grey skin. His tattoos and scars appeared more prominent than before, practically inviting Nymrodel’s attention towards his chest. The elf quickly averted his gaze, covering his face to try and hide his astound expression at the Qunari’s provocative appearance, _*This is too distracting! And just when I decided to keep my cool. Is he doing this on purpose!?*_       

Meanwhile, Dorian and Iron Bull continued their verbal spat.

“It’s a _robe_ ,” the mage corrected him with a scoff.

“You trip on that bustling whatever, don't come crying to me,” the Qunari shrugged, tuning out Dorian’s explanation of a difference between a dress and a robe.

“Perhaps we could give the armor to Solas, then. He looks like he could use a change of attire,” Vivienne bit at the elven apostate smartly.

“Right. What is that outfit supposed to be? A Dalish thing – I thought you disliked the Dalish?” Dorian cocked his head as he gazed at the elven mage

“It’s not,” the only Dalish elf in the group answered.

“It screams ‘apostate hobo’ to me,” Dorian continued.

“ _Unwashed_ apostate hobo,” Vivienne added bluntly.

The said elf narrowed his eyes at both of them.

“Is it some kind of statement?”

“No,” was all Solas said before turning his back on them both and walking away.

“Great, now you offended Chuckles,” the dwarf sighed.

“It’s his attire that’s offensive,” the Tevinter corrected in a mutter.

Nym felt like he was surrounded by bickering children and all he wanted to do was get this merry company on the way. He didn’t care if they argued the whole way back, as long as they kept moving towards the Frostback Mountains. “Come on, everyone. Time to move out.”

“Goodbye, Griffon Keep,” Cole waved at the fortress behind their backs like it was a living friend sending them off.

~…..~

Duke Antoine of Wycome was an arrogant man; noisy and boisterous, as if believing the other nobles would listen to him as long as he talked loud enough.

Yet, at the moment, the Duke’s demeanor was in complete contrast to his usual self. He cowered in the corner, his head low, while every now and then he dared to glance at the person whose back was turned to him.

The man in front of him was in full armor, pacing around the room with a bored expression as he examined the gaudy ornaments. He stopped at a large portrait of the Duke himself – it was taken in his younger days, when he went hunting as a young man. On the painting, he proudly held a wyvern’s head in one hand and a sword in the other. The armored man examined it with scorn, but without seeing his expression, the Duke mistook it for interest.

“Oh, that! It was painted in my twenties, after a greatly successful hunt. I slayed a wyvern all by my-,” Antoine was curtly interrupted.

“Everything is going as planned?” The man asked in a sharp tone, not wanting to waste any time on pleasantries. 

The Duke gritted his teeth, offended by the interruption. He cleared his throat to compose himself, “Yes. The new wells in the city have been built and the people are using them without suspicion. We infected all of them with the red lyrium you supplied. The signs are already starting to show. I managed to quell the other nobles by spreading rumors that blame the strange disease on the elves in the alienage. Ultimately, the wells will be built there too, but for now, they are good scapegoats,” he reported.

“And the Dalish? They are the Inquisitor’s Clan, so they might cause you trouble,” the armored man continued, his tone never showing whether he was pleased with Antoine or not.

“Not to worry! The fool nobles think the Dalish are responsible for the plague together with alienage knife-ears; some disease or blood magic they think. It’s all thanks to my agents who spread the rumors,” he laughed proudly, but glancing at the warrior he saw there was no amusement in his expression. The Duke cleared his throat and continued, “They are as good as dead. I’m sending mercenaries to harass them as we speak. They won’t last long out there alone,” the noble laughed nervously. His last report said the Dalish somehow managed to survive yet another attack, helped by unexpected reinforcements from the Inquisition agents, and they pulled back to a more defensible area. But Antoine shrewdly kept that part to himself. “So you will tell your master that I am cooperating, yes?” He asked with a sly glance towards the other man’s back. “That I am on your side-”

“He is _your_ master now too, Lord Antoine,” the knight interrupted again.

“O-of course, Ser Samson,” the noble instantly apologized in fear of losing his head.

The man in front of him finally turned around, his piercing dark eyes staring a hole through the Duke. There were a glowing red tint in them, complementing the warrior’s sickly pale face. “That’s _General_ Samson,” he corrected. He still wore his Templar armor with the Order’s insignia at the front, despite long forgetting his vows. “If you do your duty properly, I’m sure the Elder One will be pleased and you will be… _justly_ rewarded,” the ex-templar spoke, not even trying to hide the disgust in his features as he stared down at the slick, greedy noble.

“Yes, se-, General,” he corrected himself mid-sentence. Masking the fear and distaste for the warrior in front of him, he bowed his head even lower. He disliked his fearsome master, but it was better to serve Corypheus and live in his new world than go against a demi-god and die in the old.

“Good,” the former templar strolled towards the doors. “Keep the other nobles in check, and do not waste the Venatori agents we have left here for your protection.”

Antoine knew that was a lie – at least partly. The main reason the Venatori agents were in Wycome were to keep an eye on _him_ and confirm his loyalty to Corypheus. His safety was only a secondary matter.

He bowed once more to the ex-templar as the other left the room. “Of course, General, I am the Elder One’s humble servant.” As soon as the doors were closed behind Samson, Antoine’s expression completely changed. All fictitious propriety was gone as it was replaced by a hateful expression, his eyes filled with rage at Samson’s insulating behavior towards him. He quickly raised his head, disgusted by the very notion of having to bow to the other man. For him, a noble and Duke of Wycome of all people, to prostrate in front of a lowly, washed-up Templar was preposterous! “Who does he think he is? He’s just a small fry, working for the same master as I am!” The noble growled loudly, complaining about everything he couldn’t say out loud in front of the man.

~……~

Deshanna sighed as she started another letter. The one to Nymrodel had already been sent, but if their Clan was in peril, there was one more person she wanted informed.

Somehow, despite the numerous letters they wrote between each other over the years, she still never knew how to begin them. Lethallin? Vhenallin? Arianni? Or perhaps “Dear Ronas” was enough? She sighed again, her thin dark eyebrows furrowing slightly.

She had a lot to tell the Clan’s old friend, and Nym’s mentor. They didn’t have time to correspond often, so she hadn’t yet told him about one of clan Lavellan becoming an Inquisitor to a shemlen organization.

Due to Ronas’s circumstances, reaching out to him was both complicated and risky. The man never stayed in one place for long so all she could do was write to the last place from which the raven came – even though the man could be long gone from there by now. Sending letters was also perilous because it could fall into the hands of Ronas’s enemies instead, which could endanger both him and the Clan. Because of these reasons, they rarely communicated in this way, but she felt this problem was worth the risk.

_“Lethallin,_

_I do not know if this letter will reach you, but I will try regardless. There has been a lot of change since we last spoke. Nymrodel leads a human organization now, called the Inquisition. The last I hear, he has become their Inquisitor and together they healed the Sky. Extraordinary times we live in, no? Their influence and alliances have spread far, probably reaching your ears as well. But enemies come too. They have gathered against the Inquisition, and I fear the same ones threaten Clan Lavellan now. We have settled near Wycome, but were attacked by an unknown enemy. The Inquisition soldiers provided us with enough leeway to escape deeper into the forest where we are well-protected for now, but I fear our troubles have only just begun._

_However, the reason I write you is not the Clan’s predicament. The one I worry about is Nymrodel. He has so much carrying on his shoulders; dealing with things he never before needed to think about. He is strong, you made sure of it, but I fear it shall all take its toll on him. If something happens to our clan, if we are unable to defeat this lurking danger; then I implore you to guide him through it, like you once did. If it comes to pass that and I am gone and you are the only one he has left, I plead that you give him your support._

_It shames me that I ask this of you, as it should be_ my _duty as the Keeper, but it is a shame I am prepared to carry. I pray to the Evanuris that this letter reaches you._

_Stay well my dear friend. Tuelanen ama na,_

_Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan”_

She signed her name without the title of the Keeper since she was writing to a friend, and not on official business. The letter was written carefully, in perfect cursive penmanship. For the third time that day she sighed, feeling a heavy weight on her heart.

Her clanmates glanced at her ever so often with worry in their eyes. They could hear her long sighs, and it was never a good sign when the Keeper looked so troubled. But more than that, they all worried for her because they cared for the woman deeply.

Her musings were interrupted when a hand squeezed on Deshanna’s soldiers. The mage jumped in surprised and looked up at Gelen from her sitting position. He was towering over her with a frown. The warlord was one of the few members of clan Lavellan who could speak to the Keeper casually as a friend, without fear of disrespecting her. 

“All you’ve been doing is frowning and sighing lately. You’re making the others worry,” he warned her.

The elven woman gave him a pouting expression that made her appear younger than her age, “I don’t want to be told that I’m frowning too much by _you_ of all people.”

His eyebrow twitched in annoyance and he poked the crease in the middle of her furrowed eyebrows, “Then what is _this_ right here?”

 “Keeper, if you continue frowning like that, you’ll get wrinkles and look even older,” Lemren’s voice called out nonchalantly as he yelled from a distance. Far enough so her staff can’t reach his head.

The woman gaped in shock, “Why, you little brat! What’s this disrespectful attitude I’m getting!?”

However, the change in atmosphere worked, as both Deshanna and the other elves relaxed when they saw her acting like her usual self again. The clan members laughed at her complaints while she shouted after Lemren who used his roguish skills to subtly escape from the scene.

The lax ambience didn’t last long as a whistling signal broke out. It was the sentry’s sign that someone was approaching. Deshanna quickly jumped down from the aravel and headed towards the outskirts of the camp. She saw two of her hunters that she posted as guards in the forest, escorting a bare-faced elf. He was attired in light clothing with no visible armor. One of the Clan’s hunters held the dagger that he took from the man, but that appeared to be his only weapon. There’s only one reason someone dressed so lightly would be scouring the woods – the elf was a runner, probably sent by the Inquisition agents.

“Andaran atish’an, friend,” the Keeper greeted. She gave the hunters escorting the elf a nod, signaling them it was alright to stand down.

The runner bowed slightly in return, “Greetings, serah. I have news from one of the Inquisition agents – Jester.”

Jester was the agent currently in charge of leading the operation in Wycome, investigating the Clan’s problems with the mercenaries and the turmoil currently stewing in the city. The young shem woman was serious, but polite, and Deshanna soon learned she was trustworthy.

“Go on,” the Keeper urged.

“Investigation on Duke of Wycome revealed he was the one who sent soldiers to attack your clan. The reason is still unclear, but Jester has informed Sister Nightingale of the details and we are currently waiting for further instructions. In the meantime, the Inquisition soldiers will continue to guard the parameter while keeping a respectful distance from your Clan,” the runner finished his report.

Since most of the Inquisition soldiers were human, Jester decided it was best for them to guard the area without interfering with the Dalish clan, knowing the two races generally didn’t get along. Deshanna was grateful for her decision, knowing the Dalish were on edge enough without shems walking around their camp.

 The mage woman nodded, then called for Venna – the cook’s apprentice. The girl was only 16 years of age, but she already proved talented in the Hearthkeeper’s Arts, as if touched by Sylaise herself. And many said the same of her deer stew.

“Venna, make sure this man is fed and rested before he heads out again,” she ordered to the young girl.

“Ma serannas, serah,” the elf thanked her before he followed the young girl.

Gelen walked over to the Keeper after hearing her exchange with the runner. His wife, Brilwyn, also joined them. “What now?”

Once again, Deshanna was frowning. “We have no choice but to wait. If the Duke of Wycome is corrupt, it is in the Inquisition’s hands. We cannot act against the nobles of the city. Not unless we want to start a purge at the city alienage.”

The elves gritted their teeth. They were all frustrated from simply waiting around helplessly, while others decided their fate for them.

“First all that trouble in Ansburg 8 years ago and now a similar thing is happening with Wycome nobles. We really have no luck when it comes to the Free Marches,” Brilwyn complained. “Should we just move again,” she shrugged askingly, jesting to lighten the tense mood.

Gelen wasn’t amused. “That’s not an option, those damned shems might follow.” He glanced at his daughter, playing with the other children close by. Milani was only five and couldn’t protect herself yet. She was his first priority from the moment she was born, and all he knew was that he needed to protect her – he would do anything for her.

A gentle hand on his cheek brought him back from his musings and he turned to see his wife smiling at him. Even in the most trying times, Brilwyn could keep her calm – truly a follower of Vir Atish'an. “We will get through this, Vhenan. All of us together.”

Their Keeper cleared her throat to get their attention as she saw the lovers enter their own world for a moment, “Besides, we do not yet know what is behind the Duke’s attack on us. There must be a reason for it. We will trust da’len on this matter and await his word.”

Gelen smirked, “Nym has really become a responsible adult, hasn’t he? So different from that sulky brat he used to be.”

Deshanna chuckled, “Indeed, he has become our pride. So let us have faith in him.”

~……~

“Fiiiinally, we’re back! The stinky road with all them Robes and Demon brats; I was feelin’ tortured, ya know!” Sera exclaimed, running into the Skyhold courtyard and disappearing towards the tavern before anyone could stop her.

Surprisingly, Nymrodel was in equal hurry, although his destination was Skyhold’s rookery. “I’m going to find Leliana,” he called out to the group, already jogging across the courtyard.

“Nym, wait-,” Cassandra tried to stop him, since she wanted them to go over their Western Approach report with Cullen, and hold a meeting with Stroud and Hawke about the Grey Wardens. Alas, it was too late as the elf already disappeared.

“There elves are really quick on their feet, huh?” Varric commented as he saw both elven rogues vanish in an instant.

The Seeker scowled, unamused by his witty remarks at the moment...or ever.

“I’m gonna go find Hawke,” the dwarf decided to duck out before Cassandra’s temper flared as it often did.

Meanwhile, Nymrodel ran up the stairs of the Skyhold’s tower, skipping two at the time to reach the highest floor as soon as possible. He ran up into the dark circular room, already used to the noisy squawking sounds of the messenger ravens in their birdcages. He ducked low when Baron Plucky flew above his head and landed on its perch, observing him with eerie intelligence.

When he noticed Leliana wasn’t alone, he stopped in his tracks. She was talking with their Commander, and by their somber expressions he presumed the conversation wasn’t about anything good.

All of a sudden, fear gripped at his chest and he couldn’t move from his spot. What if they were discussing Clan Lavellan? What if news did come to Skyhold and they were bad? He knew the only way to get those answers was to approach his two advisors, yet his legs refused to work. A part of him wanted to turn away and leave – too fearful to find out the truth. _*Coward,*_ his own voice hissed at him in his mind. _*What’s the point of running away? I need to know the truth.*_ He swallowed back his fears, willing himself to move forward.

He saw Cullen give Leliana something – a scroll tucked in a metal ornamented container.

“I’m sorry,” the redhead whispered to him, pain in her eyes.  

Cullen’s gaze showed regret in return, “So am I.” He turned to leave and blinked in surprise when he saw Nymrodel standing behind him. He nodded to the elf in a greeting, “Inquisitor,” before heading down the stairs.

_*So this wasn’t about the Clan after all,*_ Nym sighed in relief, only for it to be replaced by guilt. There was obviously something bothering Cullen yet Nym could only think about his own worries.

As he approached Leliana, the woman could see his questioning gaze. She showed him the contained scroll. “The names of those we lost in Haven,” she explained. “Although many more are still missing, presumably buried under the rubble.”

His gaze softened, _*No wonder they both looked so mournful.*_ Now he shared their expressions, as well.

Leliana exhaled loudly, walking over to the railing and leaning on it. “You must blame me for this.”

Honestly taken aback by her words, he blinked in confusion. “What are you talking about?” He walked over to the Spymaster to meet her gaze. “Corypheus was the one who destroyed Haven. Him, the Venatori and the Red templars – those are the people to blame.”

The redhead refused to meet his intense stare. Shaking her head, she turned her back to him again. “I keep wondering if I could have done something different. When the first of my lookouts went missing, I pulled the rest back, awaiting more information. If they stayed in the field, they could’ve bought us more time!” She finally turned to look at him, showing a desperate gaze. “But I was afraid to lose my agents…and instead we lost Haven,” she ended bitterly.

 Lavellan disagreed. He frowned at her words, “You look out for your people, there’s nothing wrong with that. Chances are the rest of your agents would’ve died on the field and we would’ve lost Haven anyway,” he raised his voice unintentionally, as he was reminded of his own painful feelings about Haven’s destruction. 

“You don’t know that. My people know their duty. They know the risks! They understand that the Inquisition may call upon them to give their lives,” Leliana argued. This discussion was slowly turning into an argument.

Scowling in irate, he furrowed his eyebrows. “Our people aren’t tools to be used and discarded! Your instincts were right; their lives matter.”

She scrunched up her nose, her gaze hardening even more. “Can we afford such sentimentality? What if Corypheus-”

That was where the Inquisitor snapped. They would _not_ compare their standards to that monster! Just because Corypheus was a murderous psychopath, it didn’t mean the Inquisition had to become like him to defeat him. “We are better than Corypheus!” Instantly, he regretted raising his voice at the woman. He sighed, regaining his composure, “Listen…We cannot look at our men as merely pawns. What I fight for, what I risk my life on the field for…it’s people. It’s my friends here, it’s my Clan, it’s _all of you_. If we stop seeing them as individuals, we’ll stop caring…and then I won’t know _what_ we’re fighting for anymore. I can’t do that…and I can’t let the Inquisition become like that.”

She didn’t turn to look at him or try to contradict him. She just stayed looking out the window in silence, turning her gaze down as she thought about his words.

Nym’s gaze fell too. He didn’t know if his words reached her, but he could see she needed some time for herself to get her feelings in order. He could understand that – she wasn’t the only one who needed to reevaluate everything after what happened at Haven. He was just as affected by it all.

But before he left, there was on more thing he needed to speak to her about, “I, uh…I wanted to know if there was any news from my Clan?”

The spymaster flinched at the change of subject, then turned around to face him. “Ah…yes. On the table.” She walked over to her papers-covered desk and took one of the reports, handing it to the curious elf.

Nym bit his lip, crumpling the paper from how hurriedly he tried to open it. He smoothed the edges, reading through the unfamiliar penmanship. For some reason, he thought it would be Keeper Desha’s handwriting, but instead it was written by one of Leliana’s agents.

_‘Nightingale,_

_Our operatives harassed the enemy and created enough confusion for the Dalish to withdraw safely to a more defensible area._

_After investigation, your suspicions were correct: these are bandits in name only. Though they wear no colors, they are mercenaries, bought and paid for by Duke Antoine of Wycome himself. It is unclear what caused Antoine to turn on the Dalish, but he should not be trusted. In public, he fully supports the Inquisition, even pledging gold to our coffers, but he has a private agenda, currently unknown._

_I can continue gathering information, but suspicions in Wycome are high after the bandits ran into trouble, and any sabotage inside the city runs a high risk of detection._

_Jester’_

Lavellan let out a breath filled with relief when he read through the letter. Just to make sure he got all the information, he read through it one more time carefully. He didn’t want to miss anything since his clan was involved. _*They’re safe…thank the Creators,*_ he felt a heavy weight fall off his chest. Then he glanced at the spymaster, “So all we can do now is wait for further information from Jester?” He wasn’t really satisfied with just waiting around. Sure, his clan was safe _for now_ , but how long before the Duke tries something again?

“So it seems,” the redhead answered. “I do not understand what would make Duke Antoine turn violent against your clan. It is unwise to act blindly, until we have more information.”

 The elf hummed in defeat. He knew she was right, even if he was itching to act. Yet, he hated being powerless and so far from his clan when they needed him. Passively waiting around was more excruciating than any fight against dragons, demons, or magisters.

Leliana’s words brought his attention back on her, “Since we are talking about reports, we might as well gather the War Council. There are a few more things we should address.”

Eyeing her carefully, he decided, “Take half an hour, for yourself. You need a break. Then we’ll gather.”

“Inquisitor, I don’t think that’s necessary,” she started to protest.

“Half an hour break, Sister Nightingale,” he repeated over her complaints, already taking his leave down the stairs.

~…..~

He rolled his neck and shoulders, trying to get the tension out of them. As usual, the War Council lasted for hours and left him drained of all stamina. Apparently, the nobles wanted to make a whole celebration in honor of the Inquisitor slaying the High Abyssal Dragon. Or as Josephine had mentioned; they just wanted to gawk at the dragon remains with a glass of wine in their hands.

Personally, Nymrodel wasn’t as exited for the party and leaned towards the option of sending those remains to the two quirky blacksmiths; Harren and Wade. In his mind, using the dragon materials for practical purposes was far more beneficial than displaying them on some wall to gather dust. Perhaps it was his Dalish heritage that made him prioritize use over esthetics.

Remembering he needed to give Sera the news about the march through Verchiel, he crossed the courtyard.  Lieutenant Esthiel and Cullen reported the march occurred without incident and both seemed pleased, and even impressed, with the results – although the Commander specifically asked not to tell Sera that. 

On his way, he noticed a familiar form sitting on the wall near the battlements’ staircase. He followed up, watching Cole curiously while the other rocked to and fro, rhythmically tapping his heel against the wall. The view in front of them was marvelous, as the sun slowly set over the horizon, coloring the clear sky with orange and red hues. The first pale stars appeared in the twilight sky. Yet Cole saw none of this. Instead, his head was bowed down as he stared at the area below, his face hiding under his peculiar hat.

“What are you doing?” Nym walked over to the swaying youth who seemed to be in his own little world.

“Listening,” came Cole’s simple answer.

The elf realized Cole wasn’t really watching anything, but had his gaze fixated on one spot while he concentrated his mind on the people’s thoughts.

“Eyes rough, jangling armor hurts my ears, back aching, fingers too clumsy for knots. Wind cool like Aunt Eloise’s pond. Lips scaled as I sip, warmth blossoms, first kiss in the barn, _what_ was his name?” 

Lavellan listened to Cole in interest, somewhere between impressed and uncomfortable. The blonde ran through others’ thoughts like reading a book, and it was always curious to watch him work. Even after he explained his helping process to Nymrodel, it always left the elf with a strange feeling whenever he saw Cole easily reach into someone’s mind like that. Then again, his ability to make people forget him was even more disquieting. Gradually, however, he was getting used to the strange young man and his talents, which proved to be quite useful. Usually, Lavellan would be guarded after learning a spirit, or anyone, could use such skills, but Cole has only helped people so far, and he didn’t feel any threatening aura from the blonde. In the end, Nym decided he could trust him, despite his bizarre character. Even the Iron Bull, who hated demons, was slowly warming up to the fellow, while Solas and Varric took him under their wing already.

 While Nym mused over the young man, Cole continued to watch the woman below. She was working in the medical camp, taking care of wounded soldiers and refugees. Even without his commentary, it was obvious the woman was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. “Tin jangle as the blood spills. Pierre’s wrapped body on the wagon to the Chantry. Five more minutes, my fault.”

“She needs you,” Nym asked, remembering what Cole had said in their previous conversation. _“They have to need me; only then I can hear them,”_ the blonde had explained.   

“Yes,” was the blunt response before Cole suddenly vanished.

Nym had a clear idea where the youth was going, so he dashed down the stairs, seeing Cole has already reappeared beside the aching woman.

“It’s ok. Nothing you did mattered,” the blonde started.

The woman frowned in confusion, “What? Who are you?”

Cole didn’t waste time on introductions. He only continued with his explanation, “They lie there, and sometimes they die, just like Pierre. You can’t save them.”

Nym walked over to the pair, listening to the conversation. Cole’s words seemed too harsh to him. Not something the woman would want to hear.

The woman took a step back, fear mixing with confusion now. “I don’t…I don’t know who you are…”

Cole paused, his pale eyes darting around as he searched for a better way to express himself. “Wait, that didn’t work. Let me try again. You’ll forget me in a minute.”

The elf’s eyes widened at the scene. _*So he’ll just start over like nothing happened?*_ He didn’t intervene however, still interested to see where this was going.

Suddenly, the woman’s expression changed as if she saw Cole for the first time again. The roguish spirit approached her once more, “You can’t save all of them.”

“What?”

“Like Pierre getting sick after you snuck out to Aunt Eloise’s pond. You want it to be your fault, so there’s a reason and it’s not so frightening. But there is no reason. Pierre just got sick. The soldier was never going to live. It wasn’t your fault.”

Nymrodel smiled as he listened, knowing this time Cole did better. He helped.

It was evident from the peaceful expression the woman made, as if a huge weight was lifted off her soldiers. Then she blinked and walked away, as if she couldn’t see Cole anymore. She didn’t remember him, but the ease in her mind remained.

“Why do you make them forget you afterwards,” the elf asked.

“It’s better to help and then be gone. If I stay, it can be frightening,” he explained.

Nym’s keen eyes stayed on Cole. “For _you_ or for _them_?”

“Yes,” Cole said, indicating it was both.

He sighed, “Like what happened with Rhys and Evangeline?” He remembered Cole’s story of how he lost his two important friends after they found out he wasn’t really a person. He saw Cole flinch at the mention of those names.

He avoided the question, but retorted, “I was upset until I found out the Inquisition rescued them. Thank you.” Then he turned to Lavellan, “And thank you for allowing me to help her. It’s not how a person would do it…,” he trailed of.    

Nym smiled gently, “Maybe not, but you helped. That’s what matters.”

Cole was silent for a while before he abruptly started again, “I sense…worry, from you. Not only yours. Your clan. She is so proud, but she still worries. Worrying, wondering, vowing to keep da’len safe. He’s been through so much already. Mythal, keep him safe. But Mythal can’t answer.”

Nym was abashed, his lips parted in stunned silence. It took him a moment to collect himself again, “Keeper Desha?” How can you possibly know that when you’ve never met her?”

The spirit was calm, in contrast to his companion. “Your hurt touched hers. You worry for her and the clan, and she worries for you in return. It’s like a circle, connected; I feel it,” he explained.  

Nym bit his lower lip, “So…does that mean she’s safe?”

“Yes?” He didn’t sound certain. “She’s alive.” Even Cole couldn’t sense any more than this.

The other let out a relieved breath, _*That’s something, at least. I’ll take any good news I can get.*_

“Thank you, Cole,” he smiled to the blonde again.

“I’m glad I could help,” the other responded without changing expressions.

“You’re not going to make _me_ forget you now, are you,” the elf joked.

 The pasty youth blinked, tilting his head to the side, “No? If you forget me, you might mistake me for an enemy and hit me.”

Nym laughed nervously, “No, that was a joke…” Cole kept watching him with the same inquisitive, but blank stare. * _I don’t think he gets it,*_ he concluded in defeat.

“Joke…,” the youth repeated in thought, pondering over it. “Like the stories Varric tells? He has nice stories. But I still don’t understand what a joke is?”

Nym snickered, “Then maybe you should ask Varric to explain it to you?” A drop of sweat appeared on his temple as he felt a bit guilty for pushing the burden onto his dwarven friend. _*Sorry, Varric, but I think you’d be better in that department than I.*_ A more mischievous part of him, however, couldn’t wait to see Varric’s hilarious attempts at trying to explain jokes to Cole. _*Ok, maybe I’m not_ completely _sorry,*_ he admitted.

He came back to reality, remembering where he was heading before he stumbled upon the youth. “I was just off to the Tavern,” the elf gestured at the building across the yard. He turned his head back to face Cole and ask if the other wanted to join him, when he realized the lad wasn’t in front of him anymore. “Cole?” He spun around, gaze searching the courtyard, but saw no sign of the young man. Then an idea of where he might’ve gone flashed across his mind and he sighed mentally, _*When I told him to go ask Varric, I didn’t mean right this instant!*_

He understood why everyone were so jumpy around Cole. The blonde didn’t help matters by suddenly disappearing or reappearing next to them. Shaking his head in resignation, the elf continued on his way to Herald’s Rest.

~……~

Every time he returned back to Skyhold, there were more people visiting the tavern. The place has become lively and crowded, just like the Singing Maiden back in Haven. Only Flissa wasn’t serving the drinks here, but a bartender named Cabot. He was glib, and often sarcastic, if a little surly, but Nym found he enjoyed talking to the surface dwarf. Especially when he matched the dwarf’s wit with his own quips. He felt a bit bad for Flissa, losing her tavern in Haven, but the woman stayed in the Inquisition, deciding to serve it in other ways – he was glad for that, at least.

Now if only the tavern wasn’t named after him, with a most cheesy-looking sign to match; it was of Andraste, holding the Inquisitor in her arms, judging by the glowing green mark on the character’s hand.

As soon as he entered, a few of the Inquisition agents and refugees greeted him in cheers. He nodded to them and smiled politely, then stopped when he noticed the broad grey back at the bar. _*Why is he here? No, I guess he usually is…but still, I was trying to avoid him for a while…*_ Nym’s large eyes darted around the room, trying to find an easy escape route where he would stay inconspicuous.

Unfortunately, that was impossible since everyone started to greet him with “Your Worship!” and “Inquisitor!” as soon as they laid their eyes on him.

Iron Bull’s back turned and the Qunari noticed the skittish elf standing near the tavern staircase. “Inquisitor! Come, have a drink!” He grinned, rising a large tankard in his hand. His booming voice was impossible to ignore since the whole tavern heard him.

Unwittingly, corners of Nym’s lips twitched in a small smile. He huffed, walking over to the large man. “What’s all this?” Sitting down, he watched Bull take another tankard from Cabot.

“We’re celebrating!” He poured Nym a drink, the same liquor he was having, then handed it to him. Rising his own tankard, he cheered, “To killing a high dragon like warriors of legend!”

Suspicious, Nym sniffed the strange liquid, getting a whiff of strong alcohol. It didn’t smell like much else. It was also clear, like water, making it impossible for him to deduct what it was. “What exactly am I supposed to be drinking,” he asked skeptically.

The Iron Bull smirked, “Maraas-lok.”

That explanation didn’t really help. He shrugged in question, “What does that mean?”

 The large Qunari slapped him across the back to urge him on, making Nym almost spill his drink. “It means _drink_!” He laughed.

It appeared Bull’s hype from killing the dragon was still holding onto him since the man didn’t stop being in good spirits ever since they defeated the beast. His cheerful attitude was contagious, making Nym throw caution to the wind and drink the shifty substance.

He regretted it immediately. The liquid poured down his throat, burning his innards all the way to his stomach. His tongue felt like it was on fire and he coughed strongly. He panted, trying to catch his breath, “Wh…what the hell _is_ this stuff?”

Bull laughed in amusement. “I know, right? Puts some chest on your chest!”

He wondered if Bull used the wrong phrase on purpose or was he already drunk. He didn’t have time to ask as the Qunari continued, letting out a satisfied growl, “That little gurgle right before it spat fire? And that roar. What I wouldn’t give to roar like that.” His one eye gleamed with incitement as he spoke. “The way the ground shook when it landed. The smell of fires burning…Taarsidath-an Halsaam.”

For Nymrodel, the whole experience was full-on chaos, where he was just trying not to die by being squashed, or burned, or eaten…He couldn’t believe Bull actually enjoyed that pandemonium. He blinked at the unknown words the Qunari used. It wasn’t often that Bull spoke in Qunlat, but it always sounded so powerful – completely different from the poetic elven language. He wondered what the strong words meant, “That thing you just said…you shouted it during the fight, too. What does it mean?”  

“Oh, Taarsidath-an Halsaam? Closest translation would be; “I will bring myself sexual pleasure later, while thinking about this with great respect.”

Nym was just in the middle of a sip when he spat all of it out from surprise. He wiped his mouth and chin, watching the Qunari with a baffled expression, “You shouted _that_ while it was breathing fire at us!?” He wondered what great words the phrase held, and it was _that_ of all things!?  

Iron Bull didn’t find it strange at all, though. He smiled, an excited glint in his eye. “I know, right?” He grunted in an aroused tone, which sounded way more provocative to the elf than he wanted to admit.

He tried to suppress the gentle blush on his cheeks after hearing Bull’s aroused sounds. Even if the other wasn’t doing it on purpose, he had no idea what effect he was having on Nym at the moment. Trying to dim those feelings, Nym squeezed his eyes shut and gulped down the drink, feeling the burning liquid slid down his throat. After he downed the entire tankard, he coughed again, fighting for breath.

Bull laughed, “Now you’re gettin’ the hang of it!” He smirked, “You know, Qunari hold dragons sacred. Well, as much as we hold anything sacred.” Pouring another round of drinks, he handed Nym his tankard again, “Here. Your turn.” He took large gulps of the strange liquor, completely unfazed by its burning alcohol.

Swallowing hard, Nym stared at the sinister liquor. He knew he would regret it, but his inhibitions were essentially shot after getting tipsy from the first cup. He drank again, and this time he didn’t cough as much. Was he actually getting used to this insidious thing?

The Qunari chuckled as he watched the small elf struggle with the alcohol, “Yeah! The second cup’s easier. Most of the nerves in your throat are dead after the first one.”

That wasn’t as comforting as Bull thought it was. He tried to keep the conversation flowing, mostly because he hoped it would give him enough time to rest between the hideous sips. “You mentioned something about dragons being sacred to Qunari?”

The giant smiled with a nod, “Ataashi. The Glorious Ones.” That’s our word for them. Ataaaasheeeee,” he repeated the word slowly, almost singing it in a mellow tone.

The elf giggled at the prolonged sound. Ordinarily he wouldn’t, but the alcohol was getting to him. He already felt a bit dizzy. “Why’re they sacred?” He was starting to slur his words. Even so, he took another gulp of his drink.

“Well, you know how we have horns? We kind of look more…dragony…than most people. Maybe it’s that.”

Nym remembered Cole’s and Bull’s conversation about his horns and name, and Bull’s comical oversight that he could’ve called himself the Iron Dragon. He managed to hold his laughter in at the memory, as to not interrupt Bull’s explanation.

“But a few of the Ben-Hassrath has this crazy old theory. See, the Tamassrans control who we mate with. They breed us for jobs like you breed dogs or horses. What if they mixed in some dragon a long time ago? Maybe drinking the blood, maybe magic. I don’t know. But something in that dragon we killed…spoke to me.”

The idea of Qunari ‘breeding’ out of practicality sounded sad to him, but he heard about it before from Iron Bull and he understood that Qunari culture differed greatly from his own, so he shouldn’t judge them. He got so enticed in Bull’s story, he momentarily forgot his drunkenness. He couldn’t tell if Bull believed this theory or not, though. “When you say it like that, it sounds like we killed your ancestors or something,” he joked.

The Qunari chuckled, “Nah. Kill the shit out of ‘em! Dragons are the embodiment of raw power. But it’s all uncontrolled. Savage….” He started pouring more of the liquor in his and Nym’s tankards. “So they need to be destroyed. Taming the wild. Order out of chaos,” his explanation sounded very Qunari-like even to a non-expert on their customs like the Dalish elf. “Have another drink,” the man offered.

Nymrodel didn’t even pause before he took a long gulp. He hiccupped, drunken heat spreading through his face and ears. He was flushed and red in the face, his eyes glazed over.   

Bull laughed, “Nice! To dragons!” He took a large drink, then started laughing and coughing at the same time.

The elf laughed at the sight in return, completely in a haze from the strong alcohol. “To the Iron Bull!” He took a long swig of the drink. All embarrassment was forgotten, as he relaxed in Bull’s company. It was so easy to let his guard down around the rollicking captain of the Chargers.

“And his ass-kicking Inquisitor,” Bull shouted, giving the elf a grin.

Nym snickered, “Ass-kicking Inquisitor…I like that.” He was barely able to keep his head up, let alone keep eye contact with the other man, as drunk as he was. And did Bull just say ‘ _his_ Inquisitor’? He liked that part even more. A small blush appeared on his cheeks, but he was already flushed from the strong alcohol anyway. His skin felt like it was burning and he suddenly felt hot, like he was running a fever. He hiccupped again, bouncing on his chair a little.

Bull chuckled as he watched the drunken elf, “You ok there, Boss? Don’t go falling off the stool, now.” His eye was also a bit glazed, as he was feeling slightly tipsy from the alcohol, but his state wasn’t nearly as bad as Nym’s.

“…‘m fiiine,” the elf slurred his words, mumbling something between common tongue and elven. Just as he said that, he stared to sway dangerous to the side and almost fell off the chair, if the Qunari hadn’t caught him.

“Whoa, there!” Bull grabbed the elf, easily pulling him into himself so the other wouldn’t fall to the floor. He noticed how light the elf was, his slander frame so small and fragile in comparison to Bull’s muscular chest where he was currently buried in.

Bull chuckled, “My bad, Boss. I forgot this drink needs getting used to.” Nym wasn’t exactly a lightweight, but his capacity for alcohol was still way below Bull’s, especially when such strong liquor he wasn’t used to was involved. He looked down when he got no response, “Aaaand he’s asleep,” he deadpanned.

Cabot sighed as he watched the scene with a blank stare, currently drying a glass with a rag. “You can put him in one of the empty rooms upstairs,” he suggested.

“Mmmm…warm…,” Nym mumbled, snuggling into Bull’s chest without a care in the world. 

The Qunari chuckled, lifting Nym’s chin to see his sleeping expression. He looked blissfully unaware of anything happening around him. “You’re too defenseless,” he murmured under his breath to the elf, so nobody else could hear. He looked up to see Cabot pretending he wasn’t there, ignoring the pair. “Sounds like a good idea,” he said, lifting up the small elf effortlessly. He carried him up the stairs and towards one of the empty rooms. Luckily, most of the patrons were too engrossed in their own drunkenness and conversations to notice that the large Qunari held the Inquisitor in his arms.  

* * *

 

 Glossary:

_Nuva Ghilan’nain then asa shud ove arsyl o’tarasyl, i dirash na in masa dur su an’banal!_ \- May Ghilan'nain stir her hoof through the roof of heaven and kick you in the ass down to the Void (colorful)

_Arianni_ \- Friend until the end, or Friend of unbreakable bonds.

_Vhenallin_ – Friend of the People

_Lethallin_ – Kin, casual reference used for someone with whom one is familiar.

_Tuelanen ama na –_ Creators protect you

_Ma serannas – Thank you_

_Vir Atish'an_ \- Way of the Peace

_Vhenan_ – My love

_Da’len_ – Little one, child

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it and thank you for reading! :)


	20. Demands of the Qun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Here's another chapter for you. This one's a bit longer (yay!) Enjoy!

 

“Mmmnnh,” Nym rolled in the unfamiliar bed, slowly coming to his senses. His head was throbbing, a nasty aftereffect of whatever he was drinking last night, as the worst hangover of his life hit him.

At least all the shutters on the windows were closed, as if it was purposely done in a way to expect hungover patrons waking up in the morning. He was never as grateful about the lack of sunlight on his face as he was at that moment.

He peeked with one eye to examine the room, trying to remember what happened last night, only to draw a blank. He recalled talking about dragons with Bull, then nothing but darkness. _*Oh Creators, I hope I didn’t make a fool of myself somehow,*_ he pleaded in his mind. Considering his lusting thoughts towards the Iron Bull, he’d be mortified if some of that escaped his mouth yesterday during his drunken daze.   

He rose from the bed in the slowest way possible that only a person with a powerful hangover could muster. Luckily, he was already dressed so he didn’t have to worry about that part, although sleeping in his clothes only made him feel even messier.  

Then he frowned in confusion, _*Wait. How did I get here?*_ He tried to remember, but that only made his head hurt more. Giving up with a wince, he exited the room. If anyone will know what happened yesterday, it will be the bartender, so asking Cabot was his only option.

 He passed a few people on his way down the stairs and noticed them giving him strange glances. Even as he ascended to the main floor, he saw some of them staring at him curiously before turning away quickly when they noticed his gaze. Cold sweat started forming on his temple. _*Oh no…So I did do something weird yesterday!*_ He gulped as he approached the bar, suddenly afraid to ask what happened last night.

Cabot was pouring a drink for a customer. As soon as the dwarf saw him, he raised one eyebrow in wonder. “A new look for you?”

As he sat at the bar, Nymrodel frowned in confusion, wanting nothing more than to close his eyes and fall asleep right there. He was sick, weak, and his head felt like a jar of Sera’s bees. Every sound around him was pure torture to his hypersensitive hungover mind – and his keen elven hearing only made matters worse.

“What are you talking about?”

The dwarf took a metal plate and turned it for Nym like a mirror. The elf lifted his head and focused on his reflection. Only then did he notice it; black drawings all across his face, painted on with some kind of black paint or ink. He had a circle around his left eye and a drawn goatee on his chin. There was some strange circles and flowery drawings on his cheeks that he couldn’t even decipher. The worst was what they did to his vallaslin as someone evidently decided to play connect the dots with the branches on his forehead.

Snatching the plate from Cabot’s hands, he stared at it with a burning fixation, as if that would change his appearance. His eyebrows furrowed in fury as he examined his painted face, but that only made him look more ridiculous. He knew exactly who to blame. There was only one person with the roguish skills to sneak into someone’s room unnoticed, and who would be juvenile enough to pull that kind of prank. And conveniently, she lived right upstairs. Nym grit his teeth as he glared at the ceiling, “Seeeeraaaaaa! By the Dread Wolf, you come down here right now!” He shouted and regretted it instantly as his head rang from his own loud voice. He winced painfully, clutching at his head.

He heard giggling upstairs, then dashing footsteps as the elven girl ran in the opposite direction, presumably out her window and into the courtyard.

He growled, but had no strength to chase after her at the moment. _*I’ll just use Cole against her later,*_ he decided.

Cabot laughed, “I see all that drinking yesterday took a toll. Hungover, are we?”

“I didn’t…do or say anything strange last night, did I?”

The dwarf shrugged, “Not that I can remember. Then again, I was drinking too.” Nym couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

He sighed in exasperation, “And you wouldn’t know some fast-working hangover recipe as a bartender, would you?”

“Oh sure. There is this old, legendary family recipe my grandma left me. Works like a charm every time,” the man nodded.

“Really?!” Hope was born in Nym’s eyes.

“No,” the bartender deadpanned, destroying all hope for his fast recovery. “I didn’t even know my grandma.”

The elf slumped back to his seat, glaring at the man. “I hate you.”

“You know what’s good advice for hangovers,” Cabot asked, and Nym already knew he’ll regret hearing this. “Don’t drink.”

*I knew it,* he already guessed the damned dwarf would say something like that. Then he raised one eyebrow in realization. “If people actually followed that advice, you’d be out of business.”

“Then good thing people don’t follow my advice,” the dwarf shrugged.     

“I know a good remedy for hangovers,” a chirpy voice rang behind the Inquisitor and he turned around to see Dalish smiling at him. “If Master Dwarf would allow me to use his ingredients at the bar?”

Cabot didn’t look pleased, and he huffed in irate. He didn’t like people being on _his_ side of the bar.

“Master _Inquisitor_ allows it,” Nym grinned at the dwarf triumphantly, getting his revenge _and_ feeling glad that he’ll get some help for his sick feeling after all. Then he winced again as even grinning hurt.

The dwarf grumbled a “Fine,” still wearing that grim expression as he glanced at the elven mage. He cast his frown back to Nymrodel, “You’re using your status for evil.”

“The better I feel, the more rifts I can close and more problems I can solve,” he shrugged. “So when you _think_ about it, I’m using my authority for the greater good here,” he smiled impishly.

Dalish smirked, darting inside the bar, and started chopping after finding all the ingredients she needed. “This is an old Dalish recipe from my Clan. Works wonders…although it’s disgusting.”

“There had to be a catch,” he shrugged again, already accepting his fate.

That’s when Rocky joined them with a laugh, “You shouldda been born a dwarf! Then ye’d be able to drink all the time without gettin’ hungover.”

“And that’s why we call you an alcoholic,” Skinner’s call came from somewhere nearby.

Dalish and Nym chuckled at them. “Or a Qunari,” the mage woman started. “The Chief was already up early, and is now practicing techniques in the courtyard with Krem. He’s completely unfazed after yesterday’s drinking.”

“We came cause Chief had some kind of message for you,” Rocky explained.

“But someone decided to sleep in today,” the elven woman winked at him, then handed him a cup of something green and mushy. “Here.”

“I didn’t decide to sleep in so much as I was _knocked out_ by whatever liquor Bull gave me last night,” he mumbled in self-defense. Nym stared at the concoction in the glass in front of him, expecting it to sprout legs and walk off on its own any moment now. He shuddered at the disturbing thought.

“Trust me, the more you stare at it, the harder it will be to drink it,” Skinner called out again. “Just down it in one gulp.”

Stiches laughed, “It’s true. We all tried Dalish’ secret hangover cure at some point, and trust me, it works…that’s my professional opinion as a healer,” he grinned.

 Lavellan took a deep breath, then grabbed the cup and gulped the entire gooey substance in one breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the disgusting texture and taste. When he slammed the metal cup back on the bar, he was panting. “That was…the most disgusting thing I have ever tasted!”

 Dalish laughed, “But you’ll feel it working soon enough.”

Cabot, mercifully, gave him a large tankard of water and Nym quickly drank all of it, trying to wash away the repulsive aftertaste in his mouth. It tasted like deathroot, deep mushroom and onions, all mixed with the disgusting flavor of ass and feet.

“You said something about Bull needing to talk to me?” He tried to keep his mind preoccupied with other things, and not think of his murdered taste buds. The Chargers nodded. He stood up, deciding to go visit the training grounds, when he caught his reflection on the metal cup. “I think I’ll go wash my face, first,” he deadpanned, heading for the tavern’s washroom. The last thing he wanted was to appear like an idiot in front of the Iron Bull.

~…..~

His face was clean, but his demeanor still looked messy enough to make Vivienne gasp at his scandalous appearance. Hopefully she couldn’t see him from her balcony where she often spent her time. He tried to slick his hair back with water, and straightened his crumpled clothes, but it was barely any use. And who knows how his breath smelled after that horrific drink Dalish gave him. On the positive note, however, he already felt better than half an hour ago; her clan’s fast-working remedy really was true to its name.

He wanted nothing more than to retreat to his quarters for a long bath, a change of clothes and a nice herbal tea to use as mouthwash. Alas, his work as the Inquisitor already started for the day, so any leisure time would need to wait.

Deep in thought, he passed by Cassandra who was sitting on a crate and reading something with so much concentration, she didn’t even notice him. He stopped in his tracks, then walked back with interest in his eyes. It was rare for Cassandra to be reading in the open, instead of training as she usually did at this hour. And it was even more unusual for her to be so engrossed in the story that she didn’t notice when Nym snuck behind her back and peered over her shoulder.

With a smirk, he asked in a most innocent voice he could muster, “What’s that you’re reading?”

“Ah!” The woman practically catapulted herself away from him, making him snicker. She jumped, then turned around with a wide-eyed guilty expression. She couldn’t have been more obvious if she’d yelled “I wasn’t doing anything!” at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Seeker blurted out, feigning ignorance.

That only made the Inquisitor more suspicious, and his lip quirked upwards. He could read that obviously flustered expression, “Are you hiding that book out of embarrassment?”

The woman cleared her throat, “O-oh that…That’s just…” She sighed, already giving up on her charade. “It’s of no interest to you, I’m sure.”

Only getting more curious by her words, he tilted his head to the side. “Oh, it is _now_ ,” he grinned.

She huffed, “It’s a book.” She handed it over to him, “It’s…one of Varric’s tales. ‘Swords & Shields.’ The latest chapter.”

“Meaning you read all of them? Wait…you follow Varric’s books!?” He exclaimed in disbelief, making Cassandra jump at him and cover his mouth with her hand.

“Don’t be so loud,” she hissed, nervous eyes darting around in case someone heard. 

He made a muffled sound behind her hand and she swiftly removed it, panicked about her unsightly behavior. “Forgive me!”

Another voice interrupted them as Dorian happened to be passing by. They were overheard after all, “That one’s her favorite,” he said mockingly, chuckling at the warrior.

Cassandra clicked her tongue in anger, “Nobody asked you, _Tevinter_.”  

The mage scoffed with a laugh, “I couldn’t finish the last one you lent me. I actually feel dumber for having tried.”

Shaking her head, the Seeker glowered at his retreating back.

“Well that was rather harsh,” Lavellan muttered. “Are they really that bad?”

She exhaled in defeat, “It’s literature! Smutty…literature!” She confessed dramatically. Drawing close enough to tower over the elf, her gaze turned desperate and pleading, “Whatever you do, don’t tell Varric!”

Nym stiffened. She was really serious about this. But…wasn’t this a perfect opportunity for the two to reconcile after the incident with Hawke? For once, there was a bridge of peace that might connect these two! Even if that bridge came in the shape of Varric’s awful romance novel. He cleared his throat nervously, “Who, _me_? I would _never_!” Smiling sheepishly, he shiftily evaded her intense gaze.

Cassandra breathed out loudly again, “They are terrible. And _magnificent._ And this one ends in a cliffhanger. I _know_ Varric is working on the next one, he must be! You! You could ask him to finish it! _Command_ him to…”

The more feverishly Cassandra talked, the more bewildered Nymrodel’s face got. This was a side of the warrior woman he would never have guessed in his wildest imaginations. His wide eyes and gaping mouth must’ve hinted her how over-the-top she started to sound, because she abruptly stopped.

Her heated expression twisted into a hardened stare, “Pretend you don’t know this about me.” He half-expected her to threaten him with death or imprisonment, but she quickly turned to leave, stomping away from him before he could stop her. He was left staring at her disappearing form, still stunned by the whole unbelievable exchange.

He finally remembered to close his mouth as his mind screamed only one thought, _*I have to tell Varric about this!*_

~…..~

The Iron Bull stopped his training with Krem and bellowed in laughter as soon as he saw Nym’s sorry state.

“I heard you had a rough night, Your Worship,” Krem grinned jokingly, poking fun at him further.

The elf rolled his eyes, “Yes, laugh all you want. Nothing can faze me more than whatever Dalish gave me for my hangover…which is almost completely gone, mind you,” he pointed out.

The two Chargers laughed, and he took the time to examine the Qunari subtly. He was completely his usual self and Nym felt a pang of jealousy for how easily Bull resisted the hard liquor and its consequences. It was simply unfair.

“The Chargers said you want me?” He smacked himself mentally at the bad choice of words. _*Yeah, I wish…*_

Surprisingly, Bull’s good humor from earlier somewhat dampened. “Yeah. I got a letter from my contacts in the Ben-Hassrath. Already verified it with Red.”

Nym blinked, a bit surprised that the Qunari would just talked about his spy business so openly. He tentatively glanced at Aclassi. “You want to discuss this in private?”

Smirking, Bull shook his head, “Not like I was hiding it from my boys. ‘Sides, right now, I need to hit something.” He growled, then turned to Krem to try another shield bash.

Krem prepared his own shield, but was left unprepared by the Iron Bull’s heavy shield blow. Losing his balance for a second, he stumbled backwards. Nym did not envy him.

“Aaargh, come on, Krem! I’m working my ass off trying to get you to see that move!”

“You’ve got plenty of ass left, Chief!” The Tevinter warrior bit back.

_*That he does,*_ the elf agreed, losing his concentration for a while as he stared at Bull’s large form. Too bad his pants were so large and baggy, but it left more for the imagination at least. He flushed, realizing where his mind was going. _*Fenedhis, get your mind out of the gutter, Nymrodel!*_

“You know they’ve got training dummies for this, Chief,” Cremisius pointed out.

Bull growled in irate, “The training dummy might actually defend itself against the shield bash.”

As amusing as their bickering was, Nym was more interested in the aforementioned report. He cleared his throat to return their attention to him, “About the Ben-Hassrath letter?”

“Right,” Bull continued. “The Ben-Hassrath have been reading my reports. They don’t like Corypheus or his Venatori. And they _really_ don’t like red lyrium. They’re ready to work with us, with _you_ , Boss. The Qunari and the Inquisition, joining forces.”

Lavellan had to admit he was a bit stumped, and rather uncertain. He never heard of the Qunari allying with…well, _anyone_. He didn’t want to offend his Qunari companion, but this was hard to believe so easily. “Bull…,” he started, giving the giant an awkward look. “I don’t think that I can just trust them so readily. They’ve never offered the Southerners anything like this before, especially to another military organization.”

Bull nodded, “Now, ordinarily that would be the way to go. But they’ve identified themselves. They’re not running a game on you.” He turned back to Krem to continue their practice while he talked, “They’ve found a massive red lyrium shipping operation out on the Coast.”

Apparently, the Chargers’ Lieutenant was already in on all the information, because he continued, “They want us to hit it together. Talked about bringing in one of their dreadnoughts. Always wanted to see one of those big warships in action.”

Bull smashed his shield against his and Krem almost flew to the ground. “Did you see _that_?” He sighed in disappointment, “Go get some water.”

As the Lieutenant walked away to the side for a much needed break, trying to catch his breath, the Qunari turned back to Nym. “They’re worried about tipping the smugglers, so no army. My Chargers, you, maybe some backup.”

The Inquisitor bit his lower lip in thought, still unconvinced. “What does this alliance really get us?”

The Iron Bull shrugged, “They wouldn’t use the word ‘alliance’ if they didn’t mean it. Naval power, more Ben-Hassrath reports. Qunari soldiers pointed at the Venatori…,” he listed. “It could do a lot of good,” he tried to reassure the Inquisitor, and by the deep, sincere tone in his voice, he truly believed the alliance could work.  

Even so, Nymrodel knew Bull long enough now to realize when the man was agitated about something. The Qunari wasn’t as pleased with this alliance as everyone would expect him to be. “What do you honestly think of this, Bull? You don’t seem entirely happy about this, I can tell.” His keen eyes drilled into Bull, watching him carefully.

“No. I’m good.” Even Nym could tell the man answered that too quickly to be true. He gave him a pointed look so Bull continued to explain, “It’s…uhh…I’m used to them being over _there._ It’s been a while.”

Puzzled, the elf titled his head. “I thought all Qunari _wanted_ to extend their reach to the whole world?”  

“Yeah…Just didn’t think I’d see it,” the giant frowned. “Look. The Qun answers a lot of questions. It’s a good life for a lot of people. But it’s a big change. And a lot of folks here wouldn’t do so well under that kind of life,” he admitted.

That reminded Nymrodel of their previous conversation that now seemed like it was a lifetime ago; about how their comrades would do under the Qun. Most of them wouldn’t end up so well, from how the Qunari talked about it, and Nym would probably be one of them. He didn’t want to convert to that life, either – and he hoped he’d never have to make that choice.

Bull shrugged, “It’s not like we’re converting. This is just us joining forces against Corypheus. On that front, I think we’re good,” he ensured him, although Nym wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure Lavellan or _himself_.

The Inquisitor was still hesitant about it, but Bull seemed confident that this was a legitimate deal, and they would need any help they could get against Corypheus. The Qunari would be a great asset to the cause. Besides, blowing up a red lyrium shipment was enough reason to act on this, if nothing else. _*We can smooth out the details for the alliance with the Ben-Hassrath later. I doubt Josephine will agree to anything without proper negotiations. For now, stopping this shipment is a priority,*_ he decided.

He gave Bull a curt nod, “Very well. Notify your contacts that we’re willing to work with the Qunari on this mission. We’ll head out to the Storm Coast. As for the alliance…let’s see how this one cooperative mission goes first.”

“I understand, you’re being careful – I like that. I’ll pass on word to Cullen and Red. We’ll set up the meeting together,” he nodded to the elf.

Lavellan was already setting up a team for this mission in his mind, only to realize most of his mages are on hostile terms with the Qunari. There’s Solas, who perpetually argues about the Qun with the Iron Bull whenever they travel together, or Dorian who’s a _Vint_. He pondered grimly, _*Maybe I should invite Vivienne instead…that seems like the least antagonistic option to take.*_

~……~

 A week on horseback was far more bearable when the Chargers were involved. Nym spent most of their journey listening to Bull and Rocky’s bad jokes, or exchanging stories and playing cards with everyone around the campfire at night.

He talked about the Dalish culture a lot with the elven mage woman, though she was usually vague when talking about her Clan, even with another Dalish. He guessed it wasn’t out of distrust so much as she still found it painful to talk about her clan that practically shunned her. 

Vivienne was her usual self, hating the outdoors like a true Orlesian noble, even if she wasn’t one. At one point she proclaimed she would construct a bath when they make camp, and as comical as the idea sounded, Nym wasn’t completely sure she was jesting. However, it was amusing to see how Iron Bull acted all proper and respectful near her, like she was one of the Qunari Tamassrans. He even called her “Ma’am.” Madame de Fer, true to her nickname, was the only woman Nym knew who had Bull wrapped around her little finger.

Varric and Cole were mostly in their own world. Nym kept snickering on the road when he heard the dwarf desperately trying to explain what a joke is to a clueless Cole. Even funnier was when he actually tried to teach the ‘kid’ to make one.

He felt a bit bad for leaving Solas behind, especially after he took Dorian on the journey, despite his better judgement. The mage insisted to come. _“I’m not leaving you alone with unknown Qunari spies, no matter_ what _Bull says about them,”_ Dorian barked, far too worried in the elf’s opinion. But much like with Vivienne, there was no refusing Dorian once he set his mind on something. 

Shara was happily trotting along the forest as they approached their goal. Before surveying the location for the clandestine meeting, the group decided to travel to one of the Inquisition camps where they could plan their next move.

“Wait…you’re telling me Cassandra reads my books!?” Varric was just as perplexed as Nym was when he first heard that information. “I must have heard that wrong.”

“Nope, you heard right,” the elf sang. “She’s a pretty big fan, in fact.” It was just too good to pass up and _not_ tell the dwarf about it. Also, Nym was hoping the two might found some common ground with this and stop the animosity between them…maybe even become friends. Alright, maybe that’s going too far. But it would be helpful if Cassandra stopped glaring at Varric on sight like she’s about to run him through with her sword.

The dwarven storyteller still wasn’t convinced, “Are we talking about the same Cassandra? Tall, grumpy Seeker? Likes stabbing things?”

“The same one,” Nym laughed.

“She read the latest chapter three times,” Cole joined in.

Varric blinked in surprise, “You know about this too?”

“She read it out loud to me…I don’t like the Captain, either.”

Dorian chuckled and said in a sly tone, “I’d say it’s our Seeker’s dirty little secret.”

Vivienne sighed in boredom, “Those romance novels are all the rage with the noblewomen in Orlais. I hear it is one of their favorite pastimes…besides watching Chevaliers duel for ridiculous insults.”

“I’m sure they’re also excellent kindling,” Dorian whispered to Nym with a devilish smile, prompting the dwarf to scowl at him.

Then he backtracked, “Wait, did you say the romance series? She’ll be waiting for a while, then. I haven’t finished it and wasn’t planning to. That book was easily the worst I’ve ever written. The last issue barely sold enough to pay for the ink,” he grumbled.

Nymrodel shrugged, “Well Cassandra seems to be hooked on it.”

“And I honestly thought a hole in the sky was the weirdest thing that could happen. So…you want me to finish writing the latest issue of my worst serial...for Cassandra.” He recapped, and the elf gave him a wide grin as he fervently nodded his head. The dwarf was silent for a while before a wide grin slowly spread across his rugged features. There was an impish glint in his eyes, “That’s such a terrible idea, I have to do it.” Turning, he pointed at Nym, “On one condition: I get to be there when you give her the book.”

Lavellan grimaced, “I was hoping to avoid Cass killing me for spilling her secret…you know, by leaving the book for her to find or something.” He saw Varric’s determined gaze and knew the other wouldn’t falter. Sighing in defeat, he conceded, “You’ve got a deal.”

Varric aughed, “I’ll get to work as soon as we get back to Skyhold. You know, the fact that the book is terrible just makes it more worthwhile somehow.”

The elf shook his head with a small smile, “I just hope this makes you two get along a bit better. Maybe if you also give her Hawke’s autograph…,” he mused.

“Now, let’s not get carried away,” his dwarven friend put up his hands. “Baby steps.”

“Will the new story have animals in it? I like animals,” Cole added suddenly. He was so silent for a while, the pair forgot he was walking beside them, making them jump in unison.

“It’s not that kind of book, kid,” Varric laughed.

~…..~

The camp was lively with Inquisition agents working with the Blades of Hessarian as the two groups patrolled the area together. From the reports the Inquisitor received from them, there has been Darkspawn presence around the Storm Coast, along with Red Templars roaming the area. By the looks of it, the Inquisition had their hands full around here.

Unfortunately, Lavellan didn’t have time for side missions. His main purpose was to meet with Bull’s contact and stop the red lyrium shipment, and they were on a tight schedule, so everything else needed to wait. 

Speaking of Bull, the elf wondered how the Qunari was holding up. Iron Bull seemed divided on the matter of the Inquisition – Qunari alliance, and even though he dismissed Nym’s worries, Lavellan could see it was still troubling him. It wasn’t so much that Bull was dissatisfied or worked up as he was…anxious? It was unusual to associate that notion with Bull. The Qunari was never once anxious or nervous from the moment Nym met him. Suspicious or annoyed, yes, but this was different. Nym wasn’t sure what to think about this.

“You’re staring,” came a sweet, low voice from behind, tickling his ear.

Nymrodel jolted so hard in fright, he nearly fell on his face. As he clasped his affected ear, he turned around in shock, blue eyes wide. Dalish was standing there and laughing her ass off. He was so focused on the Qunari and his own musings, he didn’t even notice her approach. The woman was still snickering as she talked, “That was priceless. You should’ve seen your face.”

A bright red flush spread on his cheeks as they grew hot. He was utterly ashamed that someone managed to sneak up on him – a rogue training as an assassin – because he was staring at his romantic interest.

Wait, _romantic_ interest?

He didn’t have time to ponder on that as he saw Dalish mischievously smiling at him. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her. She knew something.

“Staring? I wasn’t-,” he started defending himself, his gaze shifting around to look anywhere other than at her.

Dalish rolled her pretty eyes, “Oh please, lethallin. I’ve seen it; your eyes unconsciously search for him.” She smiled at him gently, “Will you deny it?”

Lavellan scanned around, worried that the others might hear their conversation. Luckily, they were all focused on their own activities, and the two elves were well out of earshot for them to overhear. He cleared his throat, trying to gain some time to think how to respond, “I was just worried about him…He seems atypically on edge.” They both knew who the topic of their conversation was so there was no need to name him.

Dalish’s lip quirked in amusement. She stepped closer to the other elf, “True. But that wasn’t what I was referring to. I know that look. Your gaze follows him and there is desire in it. You like our Chief,” she sang in a teasing voice.

His breath hitched while his heart skipped a beat. His feelings were discovered? Was he that obvious? _*If Dalish noticed it, then maybe Bull did too,*_ his distressed mind raced, face paling and mind going blank. Now was the time to deny it. To lie. Yet nothing came out of his parted lips.

He clutched his hands into fists by his side. “Sathan, lethallan! Don’t say anything,” he pleaded.

“You have nothing to fear from me. I am not that cruel, and it is not my business to meddle,” she reassured him. “Although, I must say, I was a bit unsure at first…and surprised when my suspicions were confirmed.” She saw Nym follow Bull with his gaze, every time with a tangible desire in his eyes. Often, that searching look was followed by a smile. And when Bull came up to him or talked to him, the Inquisitor’s entire demeanor would lighten up without him realizing it. 

Nymrodel sighed, walking away to the outskirts of the camp while staring at the ground. He picked up a short stick and started playing with it between his fingers. Dalish followed after him in a stroll, listening to him with interest. “Trust me, I’m even more surprised about….I don’t even know what this _is_ yet. I’m still confused.”

“Why not talk to him about it?”

His back instantly went rigid. “Impossible,” he shook his head. “What would I even say? I’m supposed to be his leader, he calls me _Boss_. I don’t want him to think he owes me something out of obligation. That I’m…expecting something from him as the Inquisitor.” He clutched at his snowy-hair, “I’m not even sure _what_ I want from him,” he exclaimed.

A part of his mind whispered that this last sentence was a lie. That Nymrodel knew all too well what he wanted. He dreamed it night after night. Gulping, he quickly dismissing those dark ideas.

A soft hand on his shoulder turned him around. Dalish stared at him with a warm expression. “Lethallin, it’s alright. Take your time, if need be. Sometimes our feelings are complicated and hard to explain, even to ourselves. But I am certain of one thing; Bull wouldn’t start anything with you simply out of obligation. Whether he accepts you or not – it will be his own choice,” she smiled.

He nodded, returning her smile with his own, a relieved gaze in her eyes. “Ma serannas, lethallan.”

The woman stepped back, clearing her throat. This broke whatever moment they had. “I will admit I am a bit disappointed…,” she muttered.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Nym tilted his head in befuddlement. “What do you mean?”

She sighed, _*He’s too oblivious, this one…The Chief will have his hands full.*_ She shook her head, waving the question away, “Forget it. Just know I am rooting for you…whatever you decide. And who knows, perhaps the Chief shares your feelings. You might be surprised,” she gave him a knowing smirk.

The elf chuckled bitterly before dubiously answering, “Right.” Somehow, he had a hard time believing that _the Iron Bull_ would be sexually or romantically attracted to _him_. Bull was known in the Inquisition for sleeping around, mostly with beautiful women. Why would he be drawn to an inexperienced, male elf? He wasn’t even a redhead. 

 The two ended their conversation when they saw Krem jogging over to them. “We’re ready to head out, Inquisitor. Whenever you give the word.”

Nym nodded, deciding they have rested enough. “Let’s go meet with our spy, then.”

~…..~

 The group reached the location for the meeting. Nymrodel and Cole scouted ahead first, just in case it was a trap. Luckily, they found no evidence of it.

“Alright. Our Qunari contact should be here to meet us,” the Iron Bull said.

They searched around, but found no traces of other people. That is, until the leaves nearby rustled. Everyone’s eyes shifted in that direction with their guard raised.

“He is,” a man, a barefaced elf in armor, walked out with a smirk. He looked up at the large Qunari, “Good to see you again, Hissrad.”

_*A Viddathari,*_ Lavellan realized. That made sense. He was far less likely to be noticed as a spy in Thedas than a Qunari would be. And elves were pretty much invisible in the South. Nobody payed attention to them. Nobody cared.

Whoever this person was, Bull recognized him instantly. A bright smile spread across his face, “Gatt! Last I heard, you were still in Seheron!” Bull was practically beaming.

The elf named Gatt smiled. “They finally decided I’d calmed down enough to go back out into the world.”

Bull’s grin never left his face as he turned towards the Inquisitor, “Boss, meet Gatt. We worked together in Seheron.”

Remembering Bull’s stories of Seheron, Nym knew there weren’t many good memories he had of that place. He was happy that at least some of Bull’s experiences weren’t bad, judging by the bright look he sported at the moment. He could tell Gatt was a valuable friend.

“I’m honored to meet you, Gatt,” Nymrodel smiled.

“It’s a pleasure, Inquisitor. Hissrad’s reports say you’re doing good work,” Gatt responded.

Nym shrugged, “I try.” It was probably better not to tell the Ben-Hassrath agent that most of the time he just goes with the flow and follows his instincts – for better or worse. He tilted his head up to stare at Bull, “Wait…Bull’s real name is Hissrad?” Bull had told him the Qunari don’t have actual names under the Qun, but job-descriptions. So ‘Hissrad’ must’ve meant something Ben-Hassrath-related.

“It’s a title,” Gatt explained.

“My title was ‘Hissrad,’ because I was assigned to secret work. You can translate it to “Keeper of Illusions” or…”

“Liar,” the other spy deadpanned, interrupting Bull’s elaborate explanation. “It means Liar.”

The Qunari frowned, “Well you don’t have to say it like _that_.”

Lavellan couldn’t help but laugh at the duo. He could tell they were close friends from the bickering. Clearing his throat to try and mask his chuckles, he turned to a more serious note, “So Bull writes about me in his secret spy reports,” he gave the large man a teasing smirk.

“He does…but they aren’t really secret, are they?” Gatt gave him a knowing look.

Nym glanced upwards at Bull, wondering if the other was in trouble with his superiors for sharing his reports with the Inquisition.

Bull’s humor also dispersed from his features, “Look, Gatt-”

The armored elf raised his hand to stop him, “Relax. Unlike our superiors, I know how it works out here. We’re in this together. The Tevinter Imperium is bad enough without the influence of this Venatori cult.”

“Yes,” Dorian’s voice was heard from the background and Nym already knew this wasn’t going to end well. It was too much to expect the Tevinter mage _wouldn’t_ comment on that. “Filthy, decadent brutes, the lot of them. I’m certain life would be much better for all of us under the Qun.”

Nymrodel shifted uncomfortably as he heard that.

“It was for me,” the Viddathari shrugged. “After the Qunari rescued me from slavery in Tevinter. I was eight. The Qun isn’t perfect, but it gave me a better life. ”

Lavellan’s gaze softened, but his stomach churned at the idea of an eight-year old boy sold as a slave. Perhaps he had a better understanding of shemlen than when he first left his clan, but there are some things he’ll never understand about what they do to others - not just elves or other races, but their own kind as well.

His mind deviated for a moment, and he remembered his father when he was still a part of the Clan. He rarely walked around uncovered, but one time his sleeves were rolled up and Nym saw the faint white scars all across his arms, left by his former Master before he escaped from slavery. Nym was still a young child then, and only when he got older did the Keeper explain to him what they were –scars left by a Tevinter mage using his father’s blood for his spells.

He shivered at the thought, more so since he tried not to think of his father even on the best of days. It brought too much darkness along with the memories.

Dorian’s mocking voice was what brought him back. He was still arguing with the elf. “Yes, one free from all the pointless free will and independent thought. Such an improvement.”

“Dorian..,” Bull grunted a warning, getting annoyed by the squabble.

Nymrodel frowned, turning to face the mage. Perhaps the Qun wasn’t perfect and he didn’t want to be a Viddathari either, but this was no time for such a complicated discussion. And the Imperium was far from perfect too, with its slavery and blood magic. He was getting agitated that Dorian could mock and judge Gatt for his choices, when it was _Tevinter_ and its way of life there that pushed him towards the Qun to begin with.

“The Imperium and the Qunari _both_ have their problems,” he scowled at Dorian, irritation visible in his expression.

 The mage scoffed, but shrugged as he concurred, “Fair enough, I suppose.” He still held a sour expression, though.

“I’m not here to convert anyone. All I care about is stopping the red lyrium from reaching Minrathous,” Gatt explained.

“I can side with that,” Varric interjected. Of all the things the dwarf hated, red lyrium was definitely at the top of his list.

“With this stuff, the Vints could make their slaves into an army of magical freaks. We could lose Seheron…and see a giant Tevinter army come marching back down here,” Bull added, looking concerned.

Gatt nodded, “The Ben-Hassrath agree. That’s why we’re here.” Pointing towards the shore, he explained the plan, “Our dreadnought is safely out of view, and out of range of any Venatori mages on shore. We’ll need to eliminate the Venatori, then signal the dreadnought so it can come in and take out the smuggler ship.”

The Inquisitor carefully listened to his instructions, but he was no expert on military tactics – especially when they concerned naval power. This would be Cullen’s expertise more. The only person here he could rely on for an experienced opinion was Bull. He turned to the Qunari, “What do you think of this plan, Bull?”

He huffed through his nose, a troubled shadow crossing his rugged features. “Don’t know. I’ve never liked covering a dreadnought run. Too many ways for crap to go wrong. If our scouts underestimate enemy numbers, we’re dead. If we can’t lock down the Venatori mages, the ship is dead. It’s risky.”

“Riskier than letting red lyrium into Minrathous?” Gatt gave him a barbed look, which Bull returned with a frown. They both knew there was no other option to do this.

“What if there are Venatori mages on the smuggler ship,” Nym asked.

The other elf shook his head, “It’s unlikely there’ll be more than two or three mages on the ship. And they’ll be dead by the third shot.” After a pause he admitted, “On land, though, a half-dozen Venatori attacking the dreadnought from cover could do some serious damage.”

“I must ask, dear; why not use the Inquisition’s main forces? They could’ve crushed any Venatori resistance,” Vivienne interjected.

“Because then the Venatori would have seen you coming and run. They’d schedule a new shipment for later, and our spies might not know when or where,” Gatt told her before turning back to the Inquisitor. “This is risky, yes, but it’s our best chance to destroy the shipping operation permanently.”

“And that’s what we’re here for, Your Worship. We won’t let you down,” the Chargers’ Lieutenant added with confidence.

Nym’s gaze traveled between Gatt and Iron Bull. He nodded, “Let’s go hold up our end of this bargain then.”

Gatt relaxed, pleased by that answer. He pulled out a map of the Storm Coast and unfolded it. “My agents suggested two possible locations the Venatori may be camped to guard the shore.” He pointed at the map, “Here…and here,” then looked up at them, “We need to split up and hit both at once.”

“I’ll come with you, Boss. Krem can lead the Chargers,” Bull decided.

Nym gave him an asking stare, wondering if it was really ok for Bull to not go with this troops. But he was also relieved to have his comrade by his side for this, especially since he was still a bit on edge, dealing with the Qunari he didn’t know much about. 

“Well I’m definitely going with the Inquisitor. I’ll watch your back,” Dorian announced, casting dirty glances towards the Viddathari before looking back at Nym.

Bull had to fight the urge to roll his eyes at the distrustful mage. He was being even more prickly than usual. “I’m not going to let anything happen to him, Dorian,” he growled in annoyance.

The elf flinched, trying to hide his giddiness at Bull’s words. Now was definitely _not_ the time for that!

“Neither will I,” the Tevinter hissed back.

Bull ignored him and turned to Lavellan, “I’m gonna go fill in the Chargers. Come by when you’re ready to move.”

He nodded and watched the large Qunari leave, before his attention turned back towards Viddathari. The others of his group also dispersed, making final arrangements with the Chargers.

It was decided that Skinner and Cole will go scout out one Venatori camp, while Nym and Gatt would inspect the other location. They needed a good estimation of Venatori numbers, locations, and soldier types that awaited them, before they started the main mission.

As the two elves made their way up the hill to one of the possible locations, Nym decided now was a good time to get to know the other a bit better – and maybe Iron Bull through him, too. Now was his chance, before they got close to the Venatori camp. “You knew Iron Bull back when he fought in Seheron?”

“Yes, he led the group that freed me,” Gatt responded, walking a step behind Nym.

The white-haired elf wondered how old Bull truly was if he was already a soldier when Gatt was only eight. Or perhaps the Qunari started serving in the army young.

“I was a magister’s slave, and when the magister went to Seheron, he brought me along…for company,” the other explained.

Nym unconsciously stopped in his tracks, his gut twisting in disgust. He didn’t need details to know what that meant. It was doubtful the magister wanted someone to play Wicked Grace with. He stayed silent, his mouth dry, as the elf continued.

“Iron Bull and his men attacked my master’s ship and killed him, as well as his soldiers. Hissrad… _Bull_ set me free.”

A small smile spread on Nymrodel’s lips. Somehow he could imagine the scene perfectly; Bull throwing around Tevinter soldiers with righteous fury. It sounded exactly like something he would do. He was glad he learned another thing about Bull, even if it felt a bit lonely that the Qunari never told him this personally. “Bull never told me that story,” he commented.

“One of the few things he hasn’t shared with you, I gather,” Gatt remarked snidely. “Sure, Bull. Share the secret Ben-Hassrath reports, but keep that bit where you saved the elf boy to yourself,” the elf commented with sarcasm, dramatically talking to himself now.

Nym would laugh at this, as it once again had Iron Bull written all over it, but he was currently worried the said agent would get into trouble with the Ben-Hassrath over this. He stopped and turned to give Gatt a serious stare, “Is Bull going to get in trouble for passing those reports on?” If there was something he could do to prevent that, he was willing to do it.

The other man furrowed his eyebrows, “The Ben-Hassrath aren’t pleased about how forthcoming Bull has been…but he was one of their best agents. He kept the streets clean in Seheron longer than anyone before him, or after. He fought until it nearly killed him.”

Hearing this, Nym felt a painful tightness in his chest. He already knew this from Bull’s stories, but imagining it still unsettled him. He hoped Iron Bull never had to experience such a breakdown again.

“The Ben-Hassrath trust him enough to accept how he joined the Inquisition, even if they don’t like it.”

 The other elf felt relief from that statement. “Bull is an invaluable part of the Inquisition. He did a lot of good here,” he assured Gatt, hoping the other would pass that on to his superiors.

The spy chuckled, “You don’t need to be so protective of him. He won’t be in trouble, especially if we deal with this Corypheus and the red lyrium he brings. Besides, the Ben-Hassrath hate to discard a tool that might still have some use left in it. That’s why I have a job,” he shrugged.

Although Gatt didn’t mean anything bad by his words, Nym felt anger bubbling inside him, and his hands curled into fists. Before he could stop himself he bit back, “Bull is not a tool!” He startled both Gatt and himself with his outburst, but he couldn’t help it. He hated the way even Bull talked about himself like he was just an instrument to be used for the sake of the Qun. Nym just couldn’t accept that kind of mentality. People weren’t tools or pawns to be used.

Surprisingly, Gatt’s expression softened with guilt. “I know…I don’t like it either. There’s a lot of things I don’t necessarily agree with under the Qun.” His reaction pacified Nym, and the other listened in interest as Gatt continued, “Bull’s nickname for me, “Gatt,” comes from Gaatlok, the explosive powder in Qunari cannons. I had a temper. I was so angry when I was first freed. I wanted revenge. I wanted to find my family, still enslaved in Minrathous. I thought about leaving when the Qun didn’t tell me what I wanted to hear, but I didn’t. The Qunari were always ready to listen, to teach. They cared for me as much as one of their own. If I leave, the parts of the Qun that I don’t like are never going to change.”

When he put it like that, even the Dalish elf could see there were some positive sides to the Qun. He knew it couldn’t be all bad, since they made men like Bull or Gatt. Despite what Dorian and Solas claimed.

He turned back to lead the way and started walking through the thick vegetation again, when he heard Gatt mutter, “I’m glad he has someone like you by his side. You seem….reliable.”

Nym smiled, but didn’t respond as they continued on their way.

It wasn’t long before they reached the Venatori encampment and both elves hid in the flora, examining the enemy from a safe distance. They counted approximately a dozen Venatori soldiers, mostly warriors and marksmen. There were two Stalkers, guarding the outskirts of the camp.

“How many mages to you see?” Gatt whispered to him.

Nym scanned the area with his sharp vision. “Two spellbinders and one mage.  The mage seems to be the leader of the group. Do you think there are more camps up ahead?”

The other elf chewed his lip in thought, “Even if there are, we won’t be able sneak past this camp to find out. We’ll need to take out this encampment with the team, before proceeding.”

Nym nodded in agreement. “Let’s get back and notify the others,” he whispered.

By the time the two elves returned to the rest of their group, Cole and Skinner were also back, and together they exchanged information and shared it with the others. Finally, they had two exact locations of the Venatori encampments, along with their numbers – to know how many people they needed to send to each site.

Nym turned to Cole for a moment while he watched the Chargers make plans. “I hope you got along with Skinner,” he joked, knowing that most people had the same reaction when spending time with Cole for the first time – bewilderment.

“Callous front, but soft inside. Like the bread her mother used to bake. Her mother in the alienage misses her,” the youth responded with the same blank stare, but there was sympathy in his voice.

Nym was silent for a moment before responding, “You said that to her, didn’t you?”

“She said she would shove my hat down my throat,” he retorted, before shaking his head, “But I don’t eat hats,” completely oblivious that Skinner was actually threating him.

The elf tried not to groan as he pinched the bridge of his nose, _*I knew it.*_

He watched the Chargers as Bull gave them their final orders, “Once they’re down, send up your signal. That’ll let the dreadnought know it’s safe to come in.”

“Understood, Chief.” Cremisius nodded, standing straight and proud. It was rare to see him so formal with Bull.

“Remember, you’re gonna want a volley to start, but don’t get sucked into fighting at range. They’ve got mages,” he warned.

“It’s all right. We’ve got a mage of our own,” Krem responded.

“I’m not a mage!” Dalish protested somewhere from the back ranks and Nymrodel chuckled.

“Get in close and take their enchanter down before he takes over the battlefield,” their Chief continued.

Skinner smirked deviously, “He’ll be dead before he knows it.”

“Just…pay attention, all right? The Vints want this red lyrium shipment bad,” Bull concluded.

Lavellan picked up on an unusual strain in his voice. He always worried about the Chargers, but not this much. It was the first time Nym saw him go out of his way to warn them of every detail. Bull was wary of this plan, he realized.

The tension in the atmosphere was broken when Krem responded with a peeved voice, “Yes, I know. Thanks, mother.”

Bull scowled at him, “Qunari don’t have mothers, remember?”

“We’ll be fine, Chief,” the Lieutenant reassured him.

“All right, Chargers! Horns up!”

The Bull’s Chargers responded in unison, “Horns up!”

Nym smiled as he saw the confident grins on their faces. They were itching for this fight and were more than ready.

~……~

“You gave your Chargers the easier target,” Gatt chimed as they made their way through the forest.

“You think?” Bull’s answer came a bit too quick for him to be truly surprised by the statement.

The Viddathari chuckled, “Lower and father from the smuggler’s ship? It’s much less likely to be heavily defended.”

Shrugging, the Qunari answered, “Suppose we’ll do the heavy lifting, then. Just like old times.” He smirked, and Gatt chuckled.

It was evident the two were close; probably went to hell and back together in Seheron.

“Shhh. We’re here,” Varric interrupted the moment as they neared the first encampment.

They could see the Venatori guarding the surrounding area, while a few of them chatted inside just like any other person would. Sometimes it was easy to forget that they were also only people, even if they were crazed cultist. But it was too dangerous to think of them in such a way. It was just as Bull once mentioned; your enemies don’t get to be people on the battlefield.

It was the same camp Nym and Gatt went to spy on so they already had the approximate numbers of the enemy. There was nothing to surprise them up ahead. Nevertheless, the Viddathari warned in a whisper, “Be careful. There’s a number of these small encampments ahead of the main camp. They won’t let us pass easily.”

“We’ve all done this a few times, Gatt,” Bull reminded him in a murmur.

He gave him a sharp stare. “You’ve been living outside the Qun for years now, _Iron Bull._ Just wanted to make sure your reflexes hadn’t gotten as soft as the rest of you,” he grinned, purposely taunting the big guy.

Bull’s expression was stony as he gave him a sideways look, “Ouch.”

Even if Bull didn’t show it, Nym knew that stung him in more ways than one. He knew Bull struggled to keep his Qunari values while he had to pretend to be Tal-Vashoth – a thing he hated, possibly more than Tevinter. That couldn’t be easy, yet Gatt was throwing it in his face as if he was betraying the Qun by doing so. Even though he was following _their_ orders in the first place. Bull might not have shown his true discomfort from Gatt’s words, but Nym did. His teeth gritted as he scowled back at the other elf, anger rising inside him once more. The fact Gatt scornfully spat out Bull’s name that he picked for himself infuriated him – as if that name, that role, was somehow less worthy than the Hissrad title he had back home.

Bull was a good man, no matter what role he had to play. To Nym, he was always just Iron Bull - a friend, a comrade in arms, and a hell of a warrior. That didn’t change no matter what name he used.

He couldn’t contain the irritation on his face as he turned to look at Gatt. “Bull isn’t just sitting on his ass all day. He’s doing valuable work with us. If the Ben-Hassrath actually pay attention, they would know this,” he hissed. “Or do you not care that he’s helping the people of Thedas simply because they aren’t part of the Qun,” he asked snidely.

“His first and foremost loyalty should be to the Qun,” Gatt snapped back.

“I was _sent_ here by the Qun, Gatt,” Bull reminded him with a serious strain in his low voice.

Viddathari sighed, “I know. You’re right. My apologies, I didn’t mean to offend anyone.”

“Perhaps if we are done with the dramatic revelations, we can go take care of the Venatori, yes?” Dorian chimed in, impatient.

Agreeing, Nymrodel nodded. He slowly unsheathed his dual daggers. The blades hissed as they slid from their scabbard. “Cole, Varric, we’ll take down the guards. Mages, create as much chaos as you can. That’s when the warriors come in. We’ll take them by surprise and bring them down before they manage to organize themselves,” he whispered.

The rogues snuck towards the camp. They stayed hidden in the vegetation as they moved, their footsteps soundless on the soft, wet ground. At least that was one positive side of the constantly-rainy weather; everything was too damp to rustle or break under their feet.

One of the Venatori guards stood on the side, leaning against a tree. Even with his helmet on, it was clear as day that he was bored. He barely paid any attention to his surroundings. Perhaps that is why he didn’t notice an arrow flying towards him until it was already lodged in his throat.

“Urk!” With a choked yelp the man fell face-first to the ground, his fall sounding like a blunt thud on the wet grass.

“Wha?” The guard beside him noticed the sound and turned, only to stare in shock. Before he could yell for help, a dagger pierced through his chest from the back, muffling any scream. He let out a pained gurgle, then hissed his last breath before he died.

One the other side, Nym crouched low in the bushes as he saw a guard walk by. He waited for him to pass before slicing at his Achilles heel. The guard fell to the ground and the elf leaped at him before he could turn around, stabbing his other dagger through his neck.

“Now!” Nym shouted as loud as he could to signal the mages.

And then the whole camp lit up. Fire and Ice burst through the ground and air, enveloping all the Venatori inside.

Dorian summoned his ghoulish spells, causing terror and panic in his opponents’ minds. Vivienne switched between using her spells and the Knight-Enchanter’s blade, summoning her Spirit Sword to cut down the enemies before her. She called forth a great winter storm, which grew until it enveloped the whole camp, freezing the confused Venatori.

Through that chaos, Bull and Gatt charged in, swinging their weapons at any remaining opponent. They hacked through the Venatori like they were made of paper, or shattered their frozen bodies like glass.    

The Inquisition group brought down their full power on the unsuspecting soldiers, and their enemies fell like flies. Not even half an hour later, the fight was over, with the markings of the slaughter still present. Some of the tents were still burning, along with a few smoking bodies. Ice lingered on the trees and ground around the campsite, while frozen and broken body-pieces littered the ground. The wet dirt soaked in the fresh blood from unmoving corpses, the smell of carnage still poignant in the air. 

“I guess you haven’t lost your touch after all, Hissrad,” Gatt smirked at his old friend, and Bull returned it with a wordless smile.

“This was only the first camp. It’s too early to celebrate,” Varric reminded them.

“Spoilsport,” Nym nudged him teasingly.

“Let us move on, shall we?” Vivienne was already stepping away from the site, not even looking back at the corpses she left in her wake.

Gatt examined her as they walked away. “Now that the Circles have fallen, it must please you to wield your power so freely, mage.”

The woman raised one elegant eyebrow at him, “Quite the reverse. Mages are dangerous, and their power makes them feared. The Circles protected us.”

He was truly surprised by her words, “You sound almost reasonable.”

Bull laughed at his baffled expression, “Ma’am here is different than most mages in the South. She reminds me of the Tamassrans back home.”

Gatt eyed the grandiose, horned hat the woman wore. “Must be the hat,” he mumbled.

Dorian let out a scoff, “I don’t think the Mages of Kirkwall would agree with you. I doubt they felt very protected in a prison called the _Gallows_ ,” he mocked with scorn at how easily the word ‘protect’ was used for mages, yet only so the Chantry could mask what it truly was - imprisonment. 

“Then should they be left to their own devices and corruption like in Tevinter,” Gatt hissed at him.

“Tevinter isn’t perfect, but neither is the rest of the world, my friend,” Dorian rolled his eyes.

“I am not your friend,” Gatt bit back. “You must miss your homeland terribly, I see. There are no soldiers to guard you here, no slaves to wait on you,” the elf pressed on in mockery.

Nym glowered at him, irritated by this man who kept attacking his friends. “Dorian doesn’t own slaves and he certainly doesn’t need others to protect him.”

Surprisingly, the Tevinter wasn’t as upset. It seemed Lavellan was more angered by the accusation than he was. “It’s the lack of fashion that _really_ strikes fear into my heart,” he joked nonchalantly.

Gatt glared at him, “You know nothing of fear.”

They stopped their walk as Dorian turned to face him directly now. He narrowed his eyes dangerously, “And do you intend to teach me?” The tension was so thick now, it could be cut with a dagger.

Nym stiffened, carefully examining both of them in case he had to jump in-between and stop whatever fight was brewing. But Gatt relaxed his stance and sighed, “No. You serve the Inquisition, and the Ben-Hassrath wish an alliance. For now, that is enough.”

_*Seems this elf has more sense in him than I gave him credit for,*_ the Inquisitor relaxed.

Luckily, Gatt nipped in the bud any argument before it could start.

“Those anger management lessons worked wonders, I see,” Varric murmured to Lavellan.

The atmosphere was still tense, but not as critically as before.

They resumed their trot towards the next Venatori location. Nym quickened his pace, wanting to get this mission over with as soon as possible. He knew bringing along Dorian could cause strife, but this was worse than he imagined.

He could hear Gatt murmur to the Iron Bull, “That’s some crowd you’re running with Bull. Tevinter mages, and even demons, I hear. That Cole, he is one, isn’t he…? How can you work with a _demon_?” His tone was accusatory as he stared at the blonde youth.

The Qunari sighed in weariness, “He’s alright.”

Hearing them, Cole suddenly reappeared beside Gatt, startling the elf.

“Ah!” The Viddathari stumbled backwards, almost falling on his ass.

Nym turned his head to mask his snicker, _*Serves you right.*_

The blonde kept staring at the elf with those large, pale eyes. He was reading him. Reading his pain. “Heart hammering, brush of breath at the base of my back. He licks his thumb before turning the page,” he stared.

Everyone turned towards the pair in interest, listening to the blonde. Gatt noticeably paled, his jaw going slack. He watched Cole in shock as the other continued.

“He never finished. You don't have a demon inside you. You don't have to wonder anymore,” he reassured him.

“Stop!” Gatt’s cry came out harsher than he intended. He lost his cool for a moment, even more than when he was arguing with the Tevinter mage. He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to collect himself. Closing his eyes, he willed all his bad memories away, and turned back to Cole. “Just…stop.” It sounded more like a plea than a demand this time.

Lavellan opened his mouth to stop Cole, feeling a line has been crossed. Even if Gatt complained about the spirit boy, he didn’t deserve his hurtful past to be dredged up like this.

Before he managed to say a word, Bull interfered, “Cole, knock it off. People who follow the Qun get nervous around demons, remember?”

The blonde opened his mouth in understanding, “Oh. That’s right,” he realized. “Sorry.”

Varric cleared his throat to break the dreary ambience. He walked over to Cole and led him away, “Hey kid, let’s work some more on your jokes.”

Nym glanced at the Viddathari, who was now staring at the ground, his head bowed down. His expression was sullen as he remained eerily quiet. He felt guilty for Gatt’s pain, even if he wasn’t the one who caused it. He saw Bull put a heavy hand on the elf’s shoulder, wordlessly consoling him. Viddathari flinched, but didn’t resist it. Then he relaxed to the touch, accepting Bull’s comfort.

Lavellan looked away, keeping his eyes glued to the front. He told himself he needed to keep his gaze firmly on the road ahead, in case they stumbled upon any enemies. But in truth, there was an uncomfortable feeling forming in his chest as he watched Bull and Gatt so close together. And that selfish notion only made him feel guiltier.

~…..~

The other campsites weren’t as big as the first one and the Inquisition easily cut through them with the similar tactics from before.

They were just finishing another fight, the last of the Venatori falling to the ground, when Nym’s instincts warned him of danger. He was sure he noticed another Stalker, but the assassin disappeared in the middle of the fight when it became clear the camp was lost.

_*Perhaps they ran away,*_ the elf pondered, but it was still nagging at him. His ears itched, which always happened when he sensed danger nearby.

Air shifted on his right and he swiftly turned to face it, his blade raised before him. He blocked a long dagger aimed for his neck. The assassin appeared before him, clad in white robes and a large hood hiding their features. He could only see the mouth that snarled at him in rage.

Still in a clinch, another dagger slashed at him from the side and he quickly jumped back, dodging it. He felt the brush of air along his neck as the blade missed by a feather.

This Stalker was good; quick and precise. If Nym hadn’t been talking lessons from Heir, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to fend off these attacks.

He rushed forward at the same time as the Stalker, both pairs of daggers attacking at the same time. The Stalker parried his first attack and cut his upper arm with the other dagger as he sidestepped to dodge a forward stab. He blocked the next attack, the clash of steel ringing in his ears, then retaliated by kicking them right in the groin. He didn’t know if this cloaked figure was a man or a woman, but he knew that had to hurt, regardless. The Stalker lurched with a gasp, letting their guard down for a moment. Nym used the opportunity to stab upwards with his dagger, piercing the assassin’s head through the cheek. He slid the blade out as the rogue stumbled backwards, the hood falling from their head. It revealed a young woman, staring at him in shock. Her face had a red slit across the cheek with blood gushing out of it. The eye on that side was completely red, swollen and bleeding. The aghast expression froze on her features as she fell backwards, slowly dying without uttering a word of pain.

“You ok, Snow?” Varric ran over to him.

The elf nodded, sheathing his daggers and covering his wound with his hand. The blood slid across his fingers, marring them in red.

“Let me.” Gatt approached them and ripped a line of cloth from his armor. He wrapped the cloth around Nym’s upper arm like a bandage.

“Is that alright?” Nym watched Gatt’s flap that fell from his belt and was now uneven.

The other elf smiled, “It’s fine. That thing is only decorative anyway.”

“It’s not too tight?” Gatt asked as he fixed the makeshift bandage.

The rogue shook his head, “It’s perfect. Ma s-,” he started to say thanks in elven only to remind himself that Gatt probably didn’t speak it.

Yet the other elf gave him a knowing smile as he responded, “You are welcome, Inquisitor.” His amused smile only grew at Nym’s confusion, so he explained. “I learned some elven from the other elves under the Qun, and I also picked up a bit during my missions here in the South. Although, as I understand, not even the Dalish know all elven.”

Nym could see his last remark was only an observation, not meant to offend. He shook his head sadly, “Indeed, we have forgotten much. Forgive my presumption earlier,” he apologized, and it was sincere, despite their previous differences.

This time it was Gatt who shook his head, “I wasn’t offended, Inquisitor. A former Tevinter slave and a Viddathari from an early age; I can understand why people wouldn’t think I knew any elven. On the other hand, here down South, nobody would expect me to know Qunlat either,” he shrugged with a grin.

And that is where his true merit lied as a Ben-Hassrath spy. He could easily slip unnoticed through Ferelden or Orlais as any other elf, and nobody would ever presume he was gathering information for the Qunari.   

Nymrodel didn’t know what to think of the other elf. At times he could be obnoxiously disrespectful, and then he’d turn around and be surprisingly reasonable and cool-headed. Perhaps it was because Gatt was also unsure what to make of this Inquisition, trying to find common ground with his allies-to-be. Nym wondered if he even wanted this alliance, although he guessed under the Qun, what he wanted didn’t matter as long as it was in the best interest of the Qunari.   

“We should move on,” Bull rushed them, anxious to reunite with his Chargers.

The two elves nodded.

“Can you make out any of your mercenaries down there?” Gatt asked him.

The mercenary Captain shook his head, “Not from here. Probably better view once we take the Vints’ main camp.”

“Worried?” Gatt pushed.

Nym gave him a sideways glance as they continued on their way. _*How could he not be?*_ Did that really surprise Gatt? Then again, he didn’t see the Iron Bull with his Chargers like Nym had.

Bull frowned, displeased by the jab, “They’re my men. I’ve been with some of them for years.” He kept his explanation simple, much simpler than what it truly was. His expression remained aloof, not wanting to show how much he really cared for them.

The Viddathari nodded, although he remained silent. If he had a comment about Bull’s words, he kept it to himself. Nym, for one, was glad he did – Bull probably wouldn’t have liked it.

As they continued on their way, Nym slowed down to wait for Iron Bull who was guarding the back of the group. The others were up ahead, and hopefully out of earshot. He knew Gatt’s elven hearing was better than that of the others, but he was far ahead in the front, keeping an eye for any future dangers.

He watched the large Qunari in worry, seeing that Bull kept a thoughtful gaze in his eye, even as he seemed focused on the road ahead. He reached out and touched the other’s arm lightly. It was a gentle touch, barely grazing the man’s muscle. “How are you doing?”

Bull looked down at the elf, who was still gazing up at him with that concerned stare. He mustered an appreciative smile, but it soon twisted into a frown again. “Honestly, I just want to get this over with. Hoping the shit doesn’t hit the fan, that’s all.”

Pressing his lips together, the rogue nodded in understanding. “The Chargers will be ok. They’re the best mercenary company from here to Anderfels, remember?” He gave him a reassuring smile, reminding Bull of the same words he once said to Nym when they first met. That felt like such a long time ago, now.

Bull chuckled, and the mirth even reached his dark eye this time – if only for a moment. That moment was enough to make Nymrodel happy, however. The Qunari nodded, “You’re right. Don’t worry about me, Boss. Let’s just get this over with.”

Lavellan knew this wasn’t just about the Chargers, though. Gatt’s words, or subtle accusations about Bull living outside of the Qun for too long, got to him. Even if he didn’t want to admit it. It appeared that Bull was torn between his life as the mercenary captain and the Ben-Hassrath spy, and Nym didn’t know how to fix that. He hated that he didn’t know; so much that he even considered asking Cole for help on the matter, but concluded Bull probably wouldn’t be comfortable with that.  

He wondered how long the man would be able to play those two roles at the same time. Or how long would it be until he is called back to Par Vollen, where Gatt believed him to belong. A painful tightening in his chest caught Nymrodel off guard. The thought of Bull leaving forever was…disheartening. It left a lump in his throat and a bitter taste on his tongue. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but he didn’t want Bull to leave.

~……~

Finally, they reached the main camp. Nym felt as if they scoured through the whole north Storm Coast to get to this one cliff. And right at the edge of it was the large Venatori camp. Among the numerous Tevinter soldiers, he could see a tall mage cloaked in white robes. He wore a horned hat and a mask that hid his face. The man was currently reprimanding one of the Venatori Zealots, shouting at the man in anger.

Nym didn’t know what the argument was about and didn’t care. He used those loud voices as cover, in case he makes any noise while sneaking closer to the camp. He gestured for Cole to follow him as he got an idea.

He gave Cole instructions via hand signs and the other disappeared, seemingly in thin air. Nym took out a black ball from his belt and tossed it inside the camp. As soon as the ball broke on the ground beneath the Zealots’ feet, a thick smoke started hissing out of it. It spread until all of them inhaled enough for the drowsiness to kick in. It wasn’t long before every one of the camp guards fell to the ground, sleeping soundly. Now all that was left was to cut their throats before they awoke.

The Tevinter mage noticed the commotion and hurriedly used his magic to transport from the smoke, reappearing on the edge of the cliff. Unfortunately for him, Cole was following him, still invisible to the naked eye. Reappearing in green smoke behind the mage, he stabbed his daggers into him and the other stumbled forward, calling a wall of fire around himself for protection. The roguish spirit quickly jumped to the side, avoiding the magic fires.

Meanwhile, Nym was finishing off the sleeping guards by cutting their throats. He turned to the side to see three throwing knives flying at him. A barrier, curtesy of Dorian, appeared right on time to envelope him.  The daggers hit into the barrier, shattering upon impact and turning into metallic dust.

The elf responded by throwing his own knives at the startled assassin, who was still confused that his attack failed. The quick counterattack caught him by surprise, more so when Dorian used his magic to inflame Nym’s daggers. The two blades pierced through the Stalker’s stomach and shoulder, instantly bursting into even stronger flames. The man’s clothes caught on fire, spreading at a fast pace.

Screaming in panic, he wildly ran for a while, before falling to the ground and rolling around to try and put out the flames. The fire licked at his skin, and the smell of burning flesh and hair spread through the air. As he rolled around the damp grass, Gatt’s longsword pierced his chest as if stabbing an insect scuttling on the ground, stopping the assassin’s erratic movements.

Just like the Inquisition had the idea to go for the mage first, so did the Venatori warriors. What little remained of them charged at the mages, namely at Vivienne. They rushed at her with weapons raised, their war cries loud and clear on their lips. The rain that fell around her like a veil suddenly stopped, the raindrops still floating in the air as if time itself stopped around her. The droplets froze, turning to sharpened hail, but the gravity still didn’t pull them to the ground. Instead, the pieces were sent flying forward, right into the approaching warriors. The frozen raindrops pierced through them like arrows, undeterred by their armor. The soldiers halted in their advance, screaming in shock and pain, while trying to shield themselves from the incoming onslaught. Alas, it was no use. They were out in the open, with no cover to shield themselves from the icy barrage. Soon, the last standing soldier fell to the ground, his body riddled with holes, the same as the rest of his comrades. 

Meanwhile, Nym had jumped in to help Cole fight the mage. The spellbinder used spirits to fight for him and block every attack, making it impossible for them to come close. The wound Cole gave him was fresh and painful, dragging him down, but the fight was far from over.

He sent his spirits after the Inquisitor, and the rogue slashed through them with lightning speed. He sliced with both dual daggers, spinning around to dodge, then countering with another slash. It was like dancing through the air, but at the end of it – it didn’t stop the mage’s onslaught. No matter how much he cut through the spirits, new ones kept coming from the Spellbinder’s damned book.

 The Iron Bull noticed the spellcaster and the two rogues fighting through a whole whirlpool of white, ghostly spirits. He snarled, “Damned demons.” The large Qunari charged, running straight towards the Vint Spellbinder without fear.

Still standing at the edge of the cliff, the Venatori was grinning in victory as he had the two rogues on the defensive. One of his spirits caught Cole and shot electricity through his body. The youth screamed in pain and fell to the ground, twitching.

“Cole!” Nym yelled and ran to free Cole.

The mage’s momentary triumph made him drunk on his own power, forgetting his surroundings. That is why he didn’t notice a beastly Qunari charging from his side. Not until it was too late and he heard the heavy footsteps that resonated through the ground. “Huh?” It was all the Tevinter managed to voice out, a baffled expression under his mask, as he saw a blurry mountain collide into him.

Bull’s massive form sent the man flying over the cliff as he lost his balance. The Spellbinder flailed his arms in vain, while a panicked scream echoed all the way down. It finally cut off when the body reached the end, lying broken and bloody on the ground.

“Too bad you didn’t know any spells for flying, asshole,” the Qunari growled as he watched the corpse below. Nodding in satisfaction, he turned to the others, “That’s the last of ‘em.” His look towards him was the only sign Nym needed.

“Let’s light the signal,” the Inquisitor announced.

Dorian easily ignited the fire in the camp’s hearth, and Gatt used it to send up a flare. It was some kind of tube combined with Qunari powder that shot out a red light towards the sky.

Meanwhile, Bull walked to the edge of the cliff and pointed at the other side of the coast, further up north. “Chargers already sent theirs up. See ‘em down there?”

As expected of Bull’s mercenary company, the Chargers have taken the cliff without any casualties. Venatori bodies laid scattered around their feet.

Gatt glanced at them, then smirked back at Bull. “I knew you gave them the easier job.”

Bull smiled, allowing himself to relax now that he made sure his guys were safe and well.

Nym watched the sea in the distance and caught the smuggler’s ship sailing close to shore. Through the mist and the rain, he saw a much larger form follow it. The ship behind it was slower, but far more impressive with its firepower. It slowly sailed out of the mist, aimed for the Tevinter vessel.

“There’s the Dreadnought,” the Qunari warrior pointed. He grinned, watching the ship sail through, “That brings back memories.”

Even though the smuggling ship was gradually creating more distance between itself and the other, it couldn’t outrun the Qunari cannons. A few well-aimed shots and the Venatori vessel burst into flames. The thundering roar of the Qunari cannons using the explosive Gaatlok powder echoed through the Storm Coast. Their last few shots smashed right into the other ship’s deck, destroying what little was left of the vessel. Wood flew everywhere, the ship’s creaks in harmony with Vint screams.

The smuggler ship cracked in two, then sank into the sea, leaving nothing but floating wood and a few drowning souls behind.  

The Qunari warrior laughed, his demeanor completely changing from his previous anxious self. _*Good,*_ Nym thought.

“Don’t celebrate yet…Seems the Chargers have company,” Varric’s bleak voice warned them.

Venatori reinforcements were climbing up the hill to reach the Chargers and retake the cliff. There were far too many mages in their troops for Krem and his men to handle.

His smile fell and Bull grimaced. “Crap.”

The Chargers noticed the arrivals and prepared for a fight, but everyone could see they were outnumbered. Nymrodel shook his head, staring up at Bull in alarm, “Sound the retreat signal. It’s not too late!”

“Yeah…” Bull nodded, but the guilty expression on his face told Nym something was amiss.

When Gatt stepped forward and spoke, the other elf understood. “Your men need to hold that position, Bull.

Nym glared at him in disbelief. “They can’t! They’ll never make it!” But he also understood why Gatt insisted on it. If the Venatori mages retake that cliff, they would have a clear shot at the dreadnought. With their firepower, they would easily be able to sink the Qunari ship, and everyone on it.

 Bull gave his old friend a knowing stare. “They do that, they’re dead,” he snarled.

Gatt’s expression was sympathetic, even if his words were harsh. “And if they don’t, the Venatori will retake it and the dreadnought is dead. You’d be throwing away an alliance between the Inquisition and the Qunari!” He implored Bull to see reason.

The other just shook his head, not wanting to hear it. It’s nothing he didn’t know already.

Even so, the next words stung, “You’d be declaring yourself Tal-Vashoth!”

Bull narrowed his eyes, grimacing at Gatt in a mixture of anger and disgust. Tal-Vashoth. Tal-Va-fucking-shot! It was one thing Bull had promised himself never to become. In the past, he was willing to be destroyed by the Reeducators rather than become one of those savage beasts he hunted. As much as he played the role of the mercenary captain in Orlais, he always believed himself to be irrefutably loyal to the Qun. And yet, he couldn’t give Gatt an answer. He couldn’t decide the Chargers’ fate so easily.

Gatt continued, shouting in desperation now. He didn’t want Bull to go rogue any more than the other man did. “With all you’ve given the Inquisition, half the Ben-Hassrath think you’ve betrayed us already! I stood up for you, Hissrad!” He was getting angry now, his pain masked beneath rage, “I told them you would _never_ become Tal-Vashoth!”

Bull gritted his teeth, barely forcing the words out as he glared at the elf, “They’re my men.”

Gatt’s green eyes were filled with sorrow. He didn’t take this lightly, knowing how much Bull cared about his men. Especially since he knew best what Bull had been through in Seheron….with Vasaad. Just seeing that he was faltering, unable to choose, was enough to tell Gatt how much this situation truly pained him.

But his loyalty had to stay true to the Qun, Gatt believed. “I know. But you need to do what’s right Hissrad…for this alliance, and for the Qun,” he reminded him.

As Nymrodel listened to their argument, watching the Venatori agents slowly climb up the hill and spell certain death for the Chargers, he could feel his blood growing cold. He knew Bull hated the Tal-Vashoth – becoming one might destroy him. He would turn away from his homeland, everything he believed in. He also knew that ultimately, it was Bull’s decision. Nym couldn’t really stop him if Bull decided to sacrifice the Chargers…he didn’t have the right to since they were _his_ company and the Qun was _his_ life.

And yet, he couldn’t stand it. He knew he was being selfish, that he would meddle into things that perhaps didn’t concern him, and yet his mind kept screaming “No.” He didn’t want the Chargers to die here. He let his voice out, filled with emotion, as he yelled over their argument, “Screw the alliance!”

Both Iron Bull and Gatt spun to look at him with wide eyes, taken aback by his strong reaction. Neither of them expected Nym to shout.

But a dam broke inside of him and he couldn’t keep his opinions to himself about this. “If you need to sacrifice the Chargers for an alliance with the Qunari, then we don’t need it. The Inquisition would rather have your guys than the Qunari,” he spat, glaring at Gatt now. He knew speaking for the whole organization was a bit too much, but he was the Inquisitor dammit, and if he ever wanted to exercise that right, now was the time. “Call the retreat before it’s too late, Bull!” He clutched at the Qunari’s wrist, staring up at him with large pleading eyes.

“Don’t do this, Hissrad!” Gatt shouted, feeling he was losing this battle.

Bull roared in anger as he finally made a decision, then blew the signaling horn. The sound reached the Chargers, and luckily, it didn’t come too late. They watched as Krem and his men retreated into the forest, abandoning their position.

Viddathari shook his head, pacing in the rain. “All these years, Hissrad, and you throw away all that you are. For what? For this? For _them_?” He spat the last word, glaring hatefully at Nymrodel.

Lavellan stood firm beside Bull, returning that glare with his own. He could tell from the start Gatt didn’t like Bull’s new _friends._ Perhaps he was afraid they were pulling him away further from the Qun. Yet Nym didn’t care. He didn’t have a single regret about persuading Bull to save the Chargers. His glare held steadfast, he pointed out sharply, “His name is _the Iron Bull_.” He even added the article.

Something changed in Gatt’s eyes. The glare from before was replaced by a hard, but cold gaze. “I suppose it is,” he retorted, the undertone laced with disappointment.  

It wasn’t long before the Venatori reinforcements reclaimed the position. The mages summoned their fireballs and shot them in unison, hitting the dreadnought ship with perfect aim. Gatt didn’t stay for the end result. He walked away, back into the forest, without turning to look at the scene or the old friend he left behind.

The fireballs hit their mark and the Qunari vessel burst into flames. Nym swallowed a lump in his throat, glancing at the Qunari standing next to him. Bull had an unreadable expression, but his eye was glued to the sight before him – never taking his gaze off the burning ship.

“No way they’ll get out of range. Won’t be long now…”

Nymrodel grit his teeth, feeling all the sorrow and pain Bull must also be experiencing, even if he didn’t let it show. It felt suffocating. But perhaps there was one thing they could still do to help the situation; save the drowning Qunari once the ship is destroyed. His mouth way dry when he spoke in a whisper, “Bull…when the dreadnought sinks-”

“Sinks?” The man cut him off before he could finish the thought. As the first roaring explosions of the fireballs rang out, Bull gazed back at the ship. “Qunari dreadnoughts don’t sink.”

Giving him a confused look, that was when he heard the most deafening explosion. He flinched, eyes wide at the sound. It was too loud to be a simple magical attack. Firelight from the burning wreckage lit the side of his face, and he turned to see nothing but floating pieces of wood in the water. Whatever was left of the ship – and it wasn’t much – was burning away. The dreadnought exploded, Nym realized. Or rather, they self-destructed. He gaped, lips trembling in shock. _*Why? Why would they…If they had just evacuated the ship, jumped into the water, we could’ve still helped them!*_ He knew this must be some kind of Qunari tactic when defeated in battle, but he simply couldn’t understand such reasoning. _*So much senseless death,*_ he despaired. 

“Ataash varin kata,” Bull mumbled under his breath before turning away from the sight. “Come on. Let’s get back to my boys,” he told him in the most defeated voice Nym had ever heard from the man.

Nym wanted to say something, but understood there is nothing he could say that would make things better. Nothing could fix this. Even though he believed Bull’s decision was right, he knew it was still hard for the Qunari reaver.

As they turned to leave, they saw the rest of the gang watching behind them. They all shared the same sympathetic look as they stared at Bull, but remained silent.

“Tiny…,” Varric started softly, but Bull only walked past him in silence. The dwarf bowed his head in sorrow, staring at the crossbow still clutched in his hands. For the first time, even the storyteller was at a loss for words.

~……~

The ride back to Skyhold was uneventful, but also sullen, if not a bit awkward. Bull mostly kept to himself, immersed into reports from Leliana and other work he could do while traveling. Nym wanted to talk to him, but decided that the wound was still raw, and Bull needed time to heal and process through everything that’s happened. He needed to be alone for a while, and Lavellan decided to respect that need.

While they camped before reaching the Frostback Mountains, Gatt appeared before them again. He informed them that there would be no alliance between the Qunari and the Inquisition, then declared Iron Bull Tal-Vashoth, as if to purposely add salt to the wound.

 “You won’t be receiving any more reports from your _Tal-Vashoth_ ally,” the elf spat, glaring at Bull in reprimand.

Bull unfolded his arms from his chest as he gave the elf a careful stare, “You under orders to kill me, Gatt?”

The spy gritted his teeth, his expression a mixture of hurt and anger. “No. The Ben-Hassrath have already lost one good man. They’d rather not lose two. Pray we never meet again, _Iron Bull._ ” He turned to leave, soon disappearing from whence he came.

Nym relaxed the tension in his muscles since he could finally let down his guard. He didn’t know what to expect when Gatt first showed himself, though this wasn’t that surprising.

Bull sighed, but was back to his usual self in an instant. His mind was already processing how best to use this, “The loss of the Ben-Hassrath information will hurt. They’ll pull their people soon enough, but we might be able to identify the agents who replace them.”

The elf nodded in understanding, “We’ll have a talk with our spymaster when we get back.”

Krem walked over to them, glancing between the two. Instantly, Bull switched to his laid-back demeanor, as if to not worry his Lieutenant. The now Tal-Vashoth warrior eyed the Tevinter, “You’re late for our training session.”

Aclassi rolled his shoulders, grimacing a bit. “Sorry, Chief. Still sore from fighting off all those Vints.” He nodded at the Inquisitor with a smile, “Your Worship.”

“Hey, Krem,” the elf greeted back with a bright smile. Just seeing Krem and the Chargers was enough to remind himself that losing the alliance with the Qunari was worth it – he hoped Bull felt the same about losing his Qunari status. He knew it wasn’t the same, though.

“Are the rest of the Chargers all right,” he asked.

“They’re just fine. Thanks to you and the Chief, we had plenty of time to fall back.”

Nym gave Bull a wide grin, unable to contain himself. Bull chuckled at his beaming expression.

“Chief’s even breaking open a cask of Chasind Sack Mead for the Chargers tonight,” Krem added with an eager smile.

“Damn it, Krem, that’s the kind of thing you _don’t_ have to mention to the Inquisitor!” Bull shouted in annoyance, bashing his shield against Krem’s.

“I want in on that!” Varric’s voice yelled out from somewhere.

“I wouldn’t mind drinking myself until I fall asleep either, to be honest. Perhaps it will make the outdoors more bearable,” Dorian noted as he passed by.

Nymrodel laughed at all of them, watching the two mercenaries battle with their shields. “I guess we’re drinking tonight then,” he grinned.

“Depends on how long _this_ will take,” Bull pointed out in a taunt, referring to Krem’s training. As if challenged, the human slammed against him, managing to push him backwards.

Nym whistled in approval, “You go, Krem!”

Bull grinned, some of the life returning to his eye. “Ah, forget it! You’re doing fine,” he laughed, his tribulation momentarily forgotten.

* * *

 

Glossary:

_Fenedhis_ – Fuck

_Ataash varin kata_ \- In the end lies glory.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we reach Bull's personal quest. It's one of my favorites in the game (oh, the tough decisions). :')   
> And Nym is becoming rather protective of Bull.   
> Also, I drew Nym! (tried, at least). If you want to check it out, I made kind of a character introduction for him here: http://bloodymarryme.tumblr.com/image/174782153117  
> Thank you all for reading and see you next chapter! Stay well!


	21. In the Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel this chapter's summary should be "A lot of stuff happens." X) But yeah, 53 pages in this one, whoot!   
> I hope you like it so please enjoy~

 

Nym was crouching low for hours now, waiting patiently as he hid himself in the thick vegetation around him. Despite his unmoving position, his muscles were used to the strain. His body neither cramped nor numbed while he kept as inert as one of those stone statuses of Andruil in the Dales. It was not unusual for Dalish hunters to stay motionless for hours, awaiting the opportune moment to strike their prey. This was one of those times.

He placed a lure not far from his position, and waited for the skittish elk to come closer, drawn by the scent of food. Nym saw the great horns of the large animal as it made its way through the bushes, grazing on the grass or low branches here and there.

Daggers out and ready, he stayed in his hiding spot, watching the elk catch the scent of its meal and trot closer. He only had one chance at this, and if he moves too quickly and fails to strike a killing blow in one hit, the animal will run off. Usually, a hunter would track it and stalk after it, but he knew these lands were still plagued with Venatori and Red Templars, and therefore unsafe – it would be unwise to go far by himself.

So he waited patiently, slowing his breath until it could hardly be heard, while he hunted in the Hinterlands. He didn’t expect to be back here so soon, but after Solas told him of a large dormant rift that needed his attention, off they went. By the mage’s fascinated ramblings on the Fade, he presumed Solas wanted to study it. As for Nym, he was only interested in closing it.

While he contemplated on his mission, the large elk stalked closer to the lure, sniffing it in suspicion a few times before licking the food experimentally. Nym waited before the animal got comfortable enough to relax as it begun to eat. The cautious male wasn’t as focused on its surroundings as before, and the hunter was at a perfect position on its blind side. He was glad he chose this particular hiding spot beforehand.

Then came the time to move. Taking one careful step forward, he straightened up a bit in one fluid, but slow motion. Tightening his leg muscles so he was ready for a long jump, he spun his daggers in a position for a stab. And he leaped.

With a grunt, Nym jumped onto the elk and stabbed both of his weapons into the animal – aiming for its vitas. One blade pierced its side, surely stabbing an organ, while the other cut through the muscle on its hind leg – preventing it from kicking back at him or escaping in a run. The elk made a throaty noise as it toppled to its side. It struggled, trashing about in panic clearly visible in its clear, wide eyes, as it tried to bash Nym with its sturdy antlers and hooves. The elf dodged backwards, expertly avoiding its antlers, then slid his blade across the elk’s throat. With one final long groan, the animal stilled. The light in its watery eyes diminished, until it was left lifelessly staring at its slayer.

Nym analyzed the elk beneath him. It was large and heavy, so he was mulling over the best way to drag it back to camp with him. He could try carrying it, but the creature was almost as large as he was, and probably just as heavy – if not more.

A low growl interrupted his ponderings. Spinning around swiftly with his daggers raised, his first thought was of red templars. Perhaps one of the monsters had heard the elk’s cry and came to investigate. Instead, he was faced with a direwolf – its charcoal black mane standing up threateningly while the animal growled with menace. It snarled at him, showing rows of sharp teeth, with saliva dripping from the corners of its mouth. It kept its yellow eyes trained on him, aware of his every move. Nym knew the beast would pounce on him as soon as he stirred, but it appeared it would attack him either way.

The wolf jumped, and the hunter avoided it by rolling to the side at the same time. He was back in a crouch and facing the animal once more, just in time as the wolf landed on its feet, turned and sprang at him again. Its maws were opened wide, ready to bite into his neck, but the rogue was equally fast. He raised one of his daggers in front of him for defense, aiming it towards the wolf’s mouth. Instead of his flesh, the animal bit down on the blade, wincing as the sharp edge cut into the corners of its mouth.

His other dagger went low and slashed at the direwolf’s stomach, slicing into it deeply. The animal slipped on the grass and fell, then tried to get back to its feet, only to crumble to its side again. That’s when Nym noticed a wound near its ribcage – the poor animal was already previously wounded. That would explain why it was so hostile and alone, since wolves usually hunted in packs.

The direwolf slowly stopped trying to rise up as it only grew tired by the fruitless effort. It was too injured to use its muscles properly anymore. Nym carefully knelt closer to it, still on guard in case it tried to lash out. It didn’t look like it would, though. The wolf breathed in fast, shallow breaths as it lay on its side, while it struggled to keep its eyes open. It wasn’t ready to give up on life yet, to stop fighting – Nym admired it for that. Alas, it was only a matter of time now – it was suffering without any chance of survival.

He examined the wound. There was blood crusted in the direwolf’s silky mane, and a broken shard of an arrowhead protruded from the flesh. The elven hunter clicked his tongue in anger. He doubted this was a work of a hunter because they would have finished the job. Instead, some soldier archer must’ve hit the animal, but didn’t care enough to put it out of its misery. They left it to agonize in pain all this time.

Shaking his head disapprovingly, Lavellan rested one gentle hand on the wolf’s side. He could feel the soft, warm body against his fingers, and the rushed rising and falling of the wolf’s ribcage as it struggled to breathe. He drew one of his daggers towards the animal’s neck.

“They should have finished it and brought you peace. Ir abelas, falon. Rest now with the guidance of Falon’Din.” He gently stroked the direwolf’s mane, murmuring a soft prayer to Andruil, before stabbing his blade into the side of the creature’s neck. The wolf winced in a sharp, startled keen, before exhaling for the last time.

The Dalish hunters have always followed the Way of the Arrow, which taught them never to let their prey suffer. Any Dalish that did not adhere to those words was believed to be cursed by misfortune, and would never be able to successfully hunt again, just like the hunter in their legends, who hurt Ghilan'nain and invited the wrath of Andruil upon himself.

On the other hand, whoever did this to the poor animal couldn’t even call themselves a true hunter. “And they call _us_ savages,” Nymrodel muttered bitterly, remembering how most other races thought of the Dalish as barbaric fiends.

He glanced back at the dead elk, then back at the wolf. Suddenly feeling weary, he sighed. He wasn’t planning on taking so much game, especially since he had to transport it all back to camp by himself. But Andruil’s Path, Vir Adahlen, also teaches not to waste anything. _‘Receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness. Respect the sacrifice of my children;’_ wise words of the goddess rang in his mind. He couldn’t very well leave the carcasses here.

So he stood up, sheathed back his daggers, and grabbed each animal by its leg. There was no other way but to drag them back to camp. At least he knew none of it will be wasted, especially with how much the Iron Bull ate.

~……~

The uneaten part of the elk was slowly roasting over a gentle fire, while the direwolf laid on the side where Nymrodel had skinned it for its mane. Luckily, along with his group, there was a whole Inquisition camp to share his spoils with, so he knew none of the meat would go to waste – even if they had to rise early tomorrow and leave it here, the others could eat it before it spoils.

As they chewed on their cooked meal, Nym glanced at Solas who was sitting next to him. Unlike the rest, the mage did not eat meat, so he was enjoying some pumpkin yeast bread he took with him from Skyhold.

“So what can you tell me about this rift?”

“Not much, I am afraid, but that is why it is worth investigating. From the reports that came when the Inquisition agents measured the torn Veil, this fade rift is particularly large, yet stays dormant. However, it is only a matter of time before it opens and becomes a danger to the farmlands here,” the apostate knowledgably explained.  

“And then a shit-ton of demons come out,” Bull grumbled in distaste.

Solas frowned at the coarse way he worded it, “Bluntly put, but yes. It appears the spirits are tightly pressed against the Veil there. It is like a window to this realm; they see it and are attracted to it, but cannot enter while the window is closed. More and more come to gaze at the other side, and slowly, the tear in the Veil forms. Once it bursts, the fade rift will completely open.”

Nym grimaced, “And then, who knows how many demons will come through…or _what_ will.” He almost shuddered at the thought.

“Correct. So it is better to deal with it now. But I must say, this fade rift is unlike the others – it is fascinating. The results we got back from the artifacts…it reminds me of the dormant rift we encountered at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

This time Nym did shudder, at the unpleasant memory.

“In that case, “fascinating” isn’t the word _I_ would use,” Blackwall pointed out from his seat across the campfire. He just finished his meal, leaving only Bull eating who was on his _second_ elk leg.

Then again, the elf wasn’t surprised at the Qunari’s apatite – you had to eat a lot when you were _that_ big. _*No, not Qunari anymore. Tal-Vashoth,*_ he corrected himself.

Nym could understand the Iron Bull still held some unresolved feelings about the whole situation, and they haven’t spoken much about it since. Not for lack of trying on the Inquisitor’s part, but Bull remained dismissive or annoyed whenever Nym brought it up, not yet ready to forget that he was now the very thing he loathed for so long. It was hard to come to terms with such a notion. In Nym’s opinion, he could now finally become the person he truly wanted to be – the captain of the Chargers. He believed that not being torn between two worlds was a positive thing, and perhaps it was a relief for Bull on some level.

But the man was having a crisis; raked by guilt for betraying the Qun, turning Tal-Vashoth, and plagued by fear that he would become savage just like the ones he used to hunt. Or perhaps, he was now realizing not all of those he hunted down and killed _were_ savage, but were the same as him, and that only disturbed Bull further.

Nym knew they would have to talk about it eventually. Bull had to keep a level head during their missions, so being distracted by all these worries was dangerous. Nonetheless, he also knew now was neither the time nor the place for such a heavy discussion, so he gave the Tal-Vashoth some peace and space before he decides to confront him.

In truth, the Inquisitor also had mixed feelings about that mission in the Storm Coast. No, he didn’t regret saving the Chargers, not even for a second. But he practically pushed Bull into making that choice, leaving him with no paths of returning to the Qun. If Iron Bull has become Tal-Vashoth for the rest of his life and hated himself for it, then Nym was also to blame. He was the one who persuaded Bull to burn down that bridge. It weighed on his heart and he couldn’t help but feel the guilt. He needed to take responsibility for it; whatever it would be. Whatever Bull decided it should be. That is what Lavellan resolved himself for.

He dared a silent glance over the campfire, where Bull was sitting next to the Grey Warden. The soft glow of the fire clouded his vision, but he noticed the soft red glint of Bull’s eyepatch that caught and reflected the firelight. Then he saw that one eye, which looked darker than usual in the shadows, burn right into him with its gaze. Realizing he was caught staring, the elf quickly let his gaze fall back towards the fire. For the rest of the night he went out of his way not to look towards the perceptive ex-spy.

~…..~

“It should be around here,” Solas pointed out to the rest of the group as they stalked through the tall grass.

They climbed a hill, walking further away from any civilization, which was positive considering they were about to open a portal to a world of demons. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves on trees surrounding them, caressing his skin in a soothing manner. He could almost relax here in the wilderness, taking a small chance of peace before all chaos rains down on him once the rift opens.  

What the Inquisitor didn’t expect, however, were the sounds of battle his acute hearing picked up, even before they reached the designated place. He could distinctly hear a woman’s voice, and by the sound of it, she was chanting spells.

_*A mage,*_ the elf wondered. “Quickly, with me!” He beckoned the others to hurry, before running the rest of the way up the hill, already unsheathing his daggers.

At the top, standing on a half-destroyed cobbled path and fighting demons, was indeed a spellcaster – a Dalish mage.

“One of the People,” Nym exclaimed in surprise, running over to help her.

She had simple Dalish robes the mages of the clans used, and a staff with a bright, orange crystal at the top. Her vallaslin were a dark purplish color, in a depiction of June – the Master of Crafts. The young woman cast another spell, freezing a Shade demon just before it attacked her.

Nym used that opportunity to lunge at the frozen demon with both daggers, spinning in a number of strong slashes that broke the ice in pieces, along with the demon captured in it. It was the last one. Looking around, he noticed a few other scorch marks and puddles of black liquid that were once Shades. _*She took care of them all by herself. Impressive,*_ he noted, turning to examine the elven mage further.

By her expression, she looked just as stunned to see one of the People as he was. Her face soon softened as she composed herself, then approached him, “Andaran atish’an. I did not expect to see another of Dalish Blood here. My name is Mihris.” He noticed she spoke in a Dirtha'va'ren'vi'dirth dialect, which was indigenous to the Dales rather than Ferelden – she was rather far from home.

“En'an'sal'en, Mihris. I am Nymrodel, of clan Lavellan,” he greeted. It was usual for Dalish to give each other clan names on their first encounters, yet he noted she did not give him hers. Although curious, he decided to put it aside for now. “We are of the Inquisition,” he added.

The woman nodded, “By the mark on your hand, I presume you are the scandalous Dalish Inquisitor I have heard so much about on my travels. The shems follow one of the People? I do not know what to think of that,” she admitted.

“Neither do I, honestly. I still can’t get used to all of the different titles they bestow upon me…seems like the shems can’t make up their mind about that,” he grinned, keeping the atmosphere lighthearted. Truly, how many epithets has he been called since arriving to the Inquisition? Prisoner, Herald, Worship, Inquisitor…he’s lost count. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of him being the Inquisitor, especially with someone who was also Dalish.

Her sight traveled across his companions, and she scowled as it stopped on Blackwall, “Be careful. The humans are a tricky bunch, ready to stab you in the back if need be…they don’t even mind betraying _each other_.”

* _Oh, don’t I know it,*_ Nym thought, already aware of humans’ glutton for power. Leliana and Josephine warned him of the same thing, considering he will soon be going to a place where backstabbing was Orlesians’ favorite pastime, if not a game - _The_ Game. They were already planning how to get into the Winter Palace and warn the Empress of everything he saw in the Dark Future, right after dealing with Adamant. “Not to worry, lethallan. I will be careful, but you can trust my companions,” he gave her a dry smile, before tilting his head in question, “But what are _you_ doing here? Why aren’t you with your clan?”

A sullen shadow crossed her face when her clan was mentioned. A distant memory came to life and in that split second, she relived everything. “My clan was killed…by a demon that our Keeper was foolish enough to summon. I am the sole survivor of clan Virnehn. I was searching for another clan that would take me in when the Breach appeared, and even though you have closed it, the rifts and demons still remain. So now, I am doing whatever I can to help with this madness,” she explained in a bitter tone.

He paled at her words. A whole clan, destroyed, _killed_ , by a demon. There were only a few of the People left to begin with. Clan Virnehn being wiped out was a loss for all Dalish. She looked so young, and had possibly been the First of her Clan, judging by her skill in spellcasting. Too young to experience such a tragedy that befell her. He felt genuinely sorry for her and her clan. “That’s awful. Ir abelas, lethallan,” he whispered.

The moment was broken when Solas cleared his throat at their side. “We should move on…the fade rift should be in there,” he pointed at a large cavern further up the hill, where the stone path ended. The entrance looked man-made, with an arch built around it. Unfortunately, it was also blocked by fallen rocks.

“It appears we have a common goal; I have sensed there is a rift nearby and wanted to study it. Perhaps we can help each other. I cannot close the rifts, so at least let me lend you my magic.”

Nym smiled with a nod, “Of course. Your help would be greatly appreciated.”

“Hn,” Solas made a noise through his nose that sounded like something between a grumble and a scoff. Nym gave him a warning look, knowing full well what the mage thought of the Dalish. And honestly, he was not in the mood to hear it. Not when Mihris was offering her help freely to them, despite the fact that she had no reason to trust them.

The group walked to the end of the path, stopping to examine the great archway. It was carved with runes that Nymrodel couldn’t understand. But the real problem were the boulders cluttering the entrance.

“We’ll need focused magical energy to get by,” Mihris started, then glanced at Solas with a condescending look in her eyes, before examining his staff. “ _You_ , Flat-ear. Can you manage it?”

Nym flinched at the slur, feeling uncomfortable by it. Even though Solas wasn’t of Dalish blood, he never considered him less worthy because of it. But he knew where Mihris’s disdain came from – it wasn’t an unusual thing for the Dalish to think little of other elves, believing them to be sellouts to the Chantry – little did she know that Solas considered himself neither Dalish nor a City elf. His origin was still a mystery to everyone around him.

 He had to hand it to Solas, though. If the man was offended, he didn’t show it. He remained his cool and collected self as he responded with a raised eyebrow, “Ma nuvenin, da’len.”

Nym was sure Solas spoke elvhen on purpose, to show he wasn’t as uneducated in the elven matters as Mihris surely expected him to be.

The apostate strolled over to the blocked entrance and raised his hands into the air. As he did, green magical energy formed around his arms, then traveled towards the rocks. The energy looked like glowing mist that moved as if it was sentient. It curled around the rocks and lifted them, without Solas even breaking a sweat while he controlled it all. He directed the rocks to part, stacking them up into two pillars and back into their true form before their collapse. 

Glancing back at the group, his gentle gaze pierced the mage woman almost cannily as he nodded to indicate his work was finished. Mihris only scoffed in return.

The entrance led into pure darkness, so deep that even Nym’s elven vision couldn’t completely discern through it. Luckily, with two mages in their group, they didn’t have to scurry around looking for a torch. Both mages easily created specks of white light in their hands to lighten the path ahead. As the gentle glow hit the inside of the ruins, they found a wide staircase leading further down below. The darkness was anything but inviting, yet the group continued down into the depths of the old elven ruin.

“Watch your step,” Iron Bull warned.

He was so quiet until now, Nym forgot he was there. Who would think he could forget a two-meter-high giant.

“I’d think you would be more concerned about any low doorframes. By the time you’d see it in this darkness, it would already be too late,” Blackwall commented.

“These types of elven ruins are usually vast, with large archways and high ceilings. I doubt you need to worry about that,” Solas pointed out.

“And you are an expert on elven ruins, are you?” Mihris gave him a skeptical stare, her tone sounding awfully mocking.

Nymrodel frowned before stepping in Solas’ defense. “Solas has seen much in his journeys in the Fade. I dare say, his knowledge rivals that of any Keeper.” He understood such a bold statement could be considered heresy for a Dalish to say, and from the disapproving expression Mihris was making she must think that too, but he came to know Solas well during his time in the Inquisition. And as much as he didn’t agree with him on certain matters, the man has proven to be wise and knowledgeable, giving a gentle push or a sound advice whenever Nym needed it.

“If he knows so much, perhaps he should be sharing that knowledge with the Clans, who are still willing to learn of the old ways unlike the city elves,” the mage woman countered.

Solas narrowed his eyes, “I tried. They were less than welcoming. _They_ turned me away. Obviously, the Dalish are unwilling to learn, especially if that truth contradicts their beliefs,” he sharply answered.

“Shh!” Nymrodel shushed them both. His ears picked up on something, twitching lightly towards the sound. They were still descending deeper into the ruins, and were currently Creators know _how_ deep underground. He could hear noises in the darkness, where the magic light didn’t reach.

 “Yes, for fuck’s sake, do _shush_ ,” Bull growled, annoyed by the two arguing elves.

Nym shook his head to show that wasn’t what he meant. “No. I hear something.” He looked down at the familiar tingling in his left palm and saw the Anchor glowing brighter than before. It bathed them in its green light and cast eerie shadows on the ruin walls, until they weren’t certain if the shifting shadows were their own or was there something with them in the darkness. The Anchor was reacting, crackling softly. It only did that when a fade rift was nearby. “We’re close,” he warned them.

The warriors of the group took out their weapons. Blackwall grabbed his shield in his left hand and held the hilt of his sword in the right. Iron Bull grabbed the haft of his double-axe with both hands.

The group took a winding path down the stairs. The further down they went, the brighter Nym’s mark glowed. Soon, it overpowered the lights cast by the mages, rendering them useless. The tingling was stronger now, but still not painful. As uncomfortable as it made him, it wasn’t the same stinging pain he felt during the process of closing rifts. Unfortunately, he’ll feel that pain soon enough, he had no qualms about that.

Even before they passed the final corner, they could see the light coming from a nearby area, casting violent shadows that danced on the walls. They heard the electric sound of a fade rift constantly changing shape in the air.

As they stepped inside the vast room, they saw a huge rift right in the middle of it. The green glow was blinding in the pitch black darkness, illuminating the whole chamber.

“Maker’s balls! That’s one large rift,” the Grey Warden exclaimed in amazement, his jaw growing slack.

“And here is one of the elven artifacts we have been powering up,” Solas pointed. “We should turn this one on to strengthen the Veil.”

“Will it be enough to stop the spirits from coming through?” Nym asked hopefully, despite already knowing the answer. It was never that easy.   

The apostate shook his head, “Afraid not. You will need to open the rift correctly, than close it for good. Just like at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

 “Do not worry, lethallin. I will help you,” Mihris assured him and the rogue gave her a faint, albeit appreciative smile.

He looked at the large rift, then back at his flaring Anchor. That’s when an idea crossed his mind. _*I might as well practice now what I’ve learned with it after Haven.*_ He remembered when his Anchor first charged up and blazed on its own, soon after Corypheus cruelly dabbled with it. At that time he was confused and shocked about everything that happened to him, and was since then too afraid to try it again.

He confided only in Solas about it, wanting to get some advice since the mage was the only expert on this strange magic. They studied it together, and after more than a month of practice, his friend urged him to try using the Anchor’s new ability in battle next time. Nym wasn’t certain he was ready, but he finally gathered enough confidence to try. Still, he would have to wait for the opportune moment, or the mark’s stored up power would simply go to waste.

He nodded to his comrades, “Get ready.” Aiming his palm towards the rift, the Anchor made an instant connection. With a gasp, he felt the pulling sensation of energy. It stung a bit, and it was more draining than usual. This rift truly was abnormal, not to mention, much larger than the average ones – that only unnerved him further.

With an explosion, the air itself split open as a doorway out of the Fade appeared. Whatever they were expecting, this was not it.

Mihris was the first to take a sharp intake of breath, completely stunned. “Oh, Creators preserve us.”

They were used to Wraiths and Shades, along with the roaring Rage Demons and screeching Terrors that sometimes spawned, or Despair demons that could be particularly troublesome. But that thing…Nym hadn’t seen that thing since his battle at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

A pride demon rose to its feet, towering over all of them and casting a large shadow as it eclipsed the rift behind it. It roared with laughter, its voice deep and rumbling like a storm in the distance.

“Yep. That just _had to_ happen,” Nym deadpanned. Of course it had to be the biggest, most powerful demon of them all. He was only surprised an Archdemon didn’t fly out of the rift, as well.

On his left, Bull growled with a wild grin on his face. “Let’s bring this fucker down!” He roared just as loudly as the demon, completely unintimidated. If he was, he wasn’t showing it.

 His unwavering attitude was impressive, if bordering on mad. Well, he wasn’t going to be cowering behind the large man, while Bull did all the work. The elf took out his dual daggers and glowered at the Pride demon. “Let’s do this.”

Solas brought up a barrier just in time as the Pride demon created an electrical whip between its fingers, and lashed at the intruders with it. They jumped to the side and ducked below the whip, in time to avoid the brunt of the attack. Even so, Nym felt a shocking sting through his barrier. If he hadn’t had the magical protection, the whip would have probably fried him the same as lightning. In front of the gigantic monster, he felt like a bug scuttling away before it got stomped on.

Confirming this, he lifted his gaze in time to see the Pride demon stomping onto the ground, trying to slam its foot down onto Blackwall. The floor shook beneath its heavy feet, while its laughter bounced off the walls and around the chamber.

The Inquisitor clenched his marked hand, readying himself to try his experimental power on the demon, when a blast of energy hit Bull before his eyes.

The ex-Qunari grunted in anger as he stumbled sideways. Nym’s eyes traveled to the instigator of that blast and noticed a Wraith aiming yet another spirit ball at the warrior. More spirits were pouring out of the opened portal and he had no choice but to deal with them first.

As the shadows reigned over most of the ruin, he easily slipped into the darkness. Aiming for the corrupted spirit, he circled around to its back. The Wraith was too involved into attacking Bull to notice anything else. When he was close enough, he slashed from both sides with his daggers, splitting the spirit in half. Its translucent form flickered like disturbed mist, before it dissolved back towards the rift.

Turning on his heel, he analyzed the small battlefield. Bull and Blackwall were fighting against the Pride demon, while Solas offered them support with his healing and protective magic. When he had a chance, he turned his more destructive powers towards the Wraiths who dared draw too close to him. On the other side, Mihris was destroying the rest of the Wraiths. That is when he noticed a Rage Demon slowly sliding over to flank her.

He knew they were in great disadvantage. The chamber was big, but there was definitely not enough room to dodge most of Pride’s wide-range attacks and its sheer colossal size. Adding the fact that they were outnumbered by demons, their situation was quite precarious. They needed to end this quickly, before it becomes too crowded to dodge. Switching his gaze between the Pride demon and the elven woman, Nym pondered where he was more needed. He cast one last fleeting glance towards the Pride before deciding. They needed to weaken the rift and the demons with it, but if he focused on that now, Mihris would be in danger. She needed help first.

Just as the Rage reached to strike her with its clawed fiery hands, one of them was cut off by two dual daggers. The elf slid on the ground, spinning around to stop behind the Rage’s back, then attacked it continuously with his blades. Some of the lava dripped on him, burning his skin that wasn’t covered in armor, but he ignored the sting.

The demon hissed in anger, turning around to attack the rogue, but the other already ducked and rolled on the ground, ending in a crouch at its side. He sliced at the blazing heat there and a wide gap split open the creature’s body. Lava dripped from the top of the gaping crack and towards the bottom, trying to regenerate the fiery substance that was the Rage demon. 

Mihris helped by summoning her nature magic. She took a deep intake of breath and let it out towards the demon – it came out in a form of a freezing wind, almost a miniature winter storm, which hit the monster. The cold air wasn’t enough to solidify the demon completely, but it helped to cool down its exterior, turning its skin into a crusty, charcoal coating.

The rogue used this moment to stab both daggers into the demon and do as much damage as he could. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to finish it off. The Rage roared, staying true to its name, then struck him with its regenerated hand.

“Guh!” The elf grunted in pain as he fell to the ground, noticing the sleeve of his coat was on fire. He rolled on the ground to put out the flames before they spread, only to look up and notice Pride’s next attack was coming. His eyes widened in alarm when he saw the giant demon summoning a large amount of electrical energy and compressing it to make it more potent. He saw this at the Temple before, and knew exactly what was coming.

“Everyone, find some cover!” He screamed at the top of his lungs.

Fortunately, there were pieces of broken off walls and other rubble all around the area due to Pride’s violent attacks. He swiftly stood up, grabbed Mihris’s wrist and pulled her with him. Pushing her behind a toppled pillar, he jumped right after her to take cover. Solas and the warriors found their own shelter, just as the Pride laughed in menacingly and sent the blast of energy towards them. The whole room flashed in bright purple and crackled as electricity traveled through it.

Using his own body to shield the mage, Nym leaned into her with hands on each side, protecting her from the blast of wind that rose up as an aftereffect of the ravaging attack. “Ghh!” He clenched his jaw, his body trembling, as he withstood the powerful pressure against his back.

As soon as the onslaught was over, the warriors changed at the demon again, who only growled in response, annoyed that it missed them. However, its attack did hit something - the only other demon left in the room. Rage had been shocked by the Pride’s attack, and the electrical energy tore half of its body away, leaving a stunned, smaller version of it behind. 

Nymrodel stood on shaky legs, his muscles still twitching from the strain earlier. “Can you do something about that demon?”

The woman smirked, quickly following his lead out from behind their shelter. “Leave it to me,” she answered in confidence. Taking the opportunity while the Rage was still stunned, she gathered some of the rubble with her magic and combined it into a large boulder, sending it into the diminishing demon. The monster splattered on impact, leaving only lava sliding down the walls. The two elves grinned at each other, their tension relaxing for only a second before they were alarmingly reminded that their true battle was far from over.   

“Arrrrgh!” A pained cry traveled throughout the chamber, and Nym turned to see Bull trapped under the Pride demon’s foot. Solas managed to cast a barrier on him in time, but it was quickly wearing away, taking too much damage under the demon’s weight.

“Bull!” Nymrodel yelled out in dread. His Anchor flared up again and he knew what needed to be done.

He turned his palm towards the rift and made a connection, draining the energy out of it. He could feel that familiar numbing pain course through his arm.

Blackwall charged at the monstrous Pride with his shield in front, but it only laughed in ridicule as it swung one thick arm and swatted him away like a pesky fly. Luckily, the man’s shield protected him from the bone-breaking brunt of the blow, but it still sent him flying backwards. He ended up slamming right into Nymrodel, breaking the elf’s connection with the rift.

Both men fell to the ground, grunting at the sudden impact. The elf winced as he was crushed beneath Blackwall’s heavy armor. What’s more, he could feel searing pain pulsating in his foot. Glancing down, he noticed his ankle was already starting to swell – he must’ve sprained it during the fall.

The warrior struggled to rise to his feet in his heavy armor, then helped Nym up. He could still stand and walk, but he had to ignore the sharp pain in his ankle every time he put any weight on it.

“Inquisitor, are you alright!?” The Warden kept him balanced with one arm.

He nodded, knowing they had no time to worry about him. “Go help the others.” He quickly downed a healing potion and felt the pain ease into a numb ache. _*This should be enough for me to get through the battle_.* 

Meanwhile, the Pride was condensing electrical energy in its hands again, while the Tal-Vashoth remained pinned down beneath its foot. He struggled and cursed at the monster, but it was no use – the heavy limb couldn’t be budged. It was planning to blast the man out of existence, which was exactly what would happen if he took a direct hit from that distance.

Nym stayed in place, connecting the Anchor to the rift for another attempt.

Solas summoned a boulder and sent it flying into the Pride’s stomach, causing it to stumble backwards in a nick of time before it finished its plan. It unintentionally released Bull and the man wasted no time to roll out from beneath its foot and start running, grabbing his fallen axe on his way. The Pride’s energy ball fell from its hands as the demon staggered and it burst right beneath its feet, hitting the demon instead of its enemies. The creature roared, more in anger than any real damage from its own power, before its fury focused on the one who disrupted its plans. It headed towards Solas as fast as its sluggish giant body allowed it. Each step it took shook the ground with a rumble of an earthquake, while the walls trembled in the same rhythm.

Still holding his connection to the rift, Nym cried out. He could feel it charging up and ready to burst. The electrifying feeling traveled all the way to his fingertips. Then finally, the fade rift exploded. Parts of it shattered like broken glass, changing form from energy into a more palpable matter. The Pride demon roared as if the explosion of the fade rift hurt it somehow. It fell to one knee, overpowered by weakness.

“Now!” Nymrodel ordered, before they all rushed the demon together.

Mihris summoned a column of fire upon the demon, while Blackwall and Iron Bull hacked at its armored body. Solas summoned spikes from the ground, piercing right into the Pride’s feet to hold it in place.

Nymrodel charged towards it when a voice echoed inside his mind. It was low and grumbling, just like the Pride demon’s laugh. _“You think you are not strong enough. Not powerful enough to lead the Inquisition.”_ He blinked, staring at the rest of his comrades. Nobody else seemed aware of this voice, so he concluded only he could hear it. His gaze fell on the Pride demon who was flailing its arms in defense. It was talking to him directly inside his mind. He shuddered at the notion that the demon somehow made a connection with him through his mind. Could it read his thoughts now? How far inside him could it see?  

_“But I could give you what you want. I could make you powerful enough so nobody in the Inquisition would question you. Nobody in the_ world _,”_ the voice continued.

Nymrodel swallowed hard, faltering in his step. He watched his comrades fight the demon, only a few steps away – unaware that their opponent was currently promising sly offers in the Inquisitor’s head. The Pride suddenly straightened back to its feet with a loud roar, calling forth its electrical whip and lashing with it across the room. The Inquisition group cried out in alarm, some dodging in time by leaping to the ground, while the others were flung away and stunned by the electrical current. The sight awoke Nym and he momentarily ignored the voice as he lunged himself towards the demon, closing the remaining distance between them. His daggers cut across the inner part of its leg, before he ducked below its hands when it tried to squash him in-between. He stabbed his blades into its other knee, making sure to pierce into the already-existing wounds previously made by the warriors.

As he cut deep into the flesh where the tough, armored skin was already destroyed, the demon growled in pain, annoyed by the agile elf who was too swift to catch. The monster started to bleed in a black, grimy color from its fresh wounds.

Then the voice inside his mind returned, _“Admit it; your burden is too heavy. Your clan, the Inquisition, the Elder One…there’s too much to deal with. You need help._ I _could help,”_ and it startled him enough to lose his concertation for a moment. Alas, that one moment was all it needed to take him by surprise and grab him in its prickly, strong hand.

“No!” The rogue yelped, gasping as the monster lifted him up until they were at eye level. Those numerous beady eyes all fixated on him, but he could see no light or life in them. Nothing to but a hollow, soulless abyss. The demon lightly squeezed its fingers as if testing its grip on him, showing him only a sliver of agony it could truly bestow upon him if it only used a little more strength. Yet it was enough for him to feel his insides being pressed together. “Aaagh!” Feeling his ribs were about to crack, he groaned in pain. This monster could easily make paste out of him if it so desired. The choking pain made him lose his grip on one of his daggers, and it fell out of his marked hand, clattering on the ground.

Pride was still rumbling inside his mind, telling him how things _could_ be. How it would be so much easier to let go and let it in. Let it _help_. Help him become the leader he was always meant to be. He couldn’t think straight. The ache and that coercing voice mixed together were muddling his own thoughts, which were being overpowered by the deafening voice of the Pride demon. He squeezed his eyes shut in agony, Mythal’s vallaslin twisting along with his expression. And it was the goddess’s name that first came to mind as he pleaded for her mercy and strength, so he could defend himself from the Pride’s invading words.

“Nym!” Seeing nothing but red before his eyes as he charged at the demon, Bull shouted in rage. He slammed his axe into the demon’s knee, hacking at it with all his strength. He was determined to cut off its leg if need be. Anything for it to let go of Lavellan.

The familiar voice down below returned some of his senses to him, and Nym recalled Keeper Deshanna’s warning words. _“A pride demon will mock your very existence. Do not let it confuse you, for it will devour you if you waver before it.”_ At the time, he thought it was only a figure of speech, but now as he gazed down its gaping maws, he wasn’t so sure anymore. _*It’s going to either eat me or possess me,*_ he realized, coughing as he was unable to breathe from the tight grip it had on him.

The Pride continued to beckon him, promising power and prestige beyond belief. _“You can’t show them your weakness. If you appear weak, they will all abandon you. What about your pride as the Inquisitor? Let me help you win your war.”_ The shrewd undertone in its voice started to affect him, making him question himself.

Then his gaze flickered towards his left palm. _*The Anchor!*_ If there was ever a time to try out what he practiced with Solas, now was that time.

He raised his marked hand towards the ceiling, and concentrated on the tingling feeling in it. Closing his eyes, he imagined the feeling he always had when connected to the fade rifts – to the Veil. He used the power of the Anchor to tear at the Veil, but instead of creating a normal rift that spat out spirits, he created a one-way portal…right back into the Fade.

_“What are you doing!?”_ The Pride demon roared in his mind, momentarily frightened by the powerful vortex opening up above it. The vortex pulled at the demon, slowly beginning to draw its spirit back into the Fade.

Nym opened his eyes to glare at the demon in defiance. With one remaining dagger, he stabbed into its hand as hard as he could, and it was enough to surprise it with pain. Its hand twitched, and with a startled hiss, the demon dropped him. A sharp gasp escaped him when he suddenly found himself falling through the air with nothing to hold on to. Landing on his back, the air was knocked out of him as he hit the stony ground. So much for a rogue’s grace.

The Pride roared when its feet left the ground, and it struggled in the air, flailing its arms to try and hold onto anything in sight. It was being sucked into the fade portal. Sitting up, Nym aimed his Anchor at the original fade rift and made another connection to weaken it before he closes it for good.

With one final roar, the Pride demon vanished through the swirl of green energy. Just as his fade portal disappeared, the large rift exploded into thousands of tiny pieces that rained down on them, leaving no trace behind as it closed. In the absence of the rift’s light, darkness swallowed the chamber and everyone in it.

_*Finally,*_ the elf relaxed, feeling every part of his body ache. Collapsing onto his back again, he took a deep breath of relief, only to wince as his sore torso reminded him of his injuries. Even that small action hurt. * _That probably means a couple of my ribs are cracked if not broken,*_ he noted, feeling fatigue wash over him while his torso continued to protest each shallow breath he took. He tried to control his breathing to ease the pain, but with his exhaustion and lack of oxygen from Pride’s tight grip, it wasn’t easy.

“Boss! You ok!?”

“Young master Nym!”

Solas and Bull were the first to reach him, checking on his wellbeing. He gave them a weak smile, even as exhausted as he was. The crystal on Solas’ staff shone in a soft green gleam, creating a small circle of light around them.

“Did you see what I did there? Pretty cool, right?”

They both directed him a perplexed stare before exchanging weary glances. At least he was his usual self.

~…..~

 They were sitting outside the elven ruin, with Solas healing Nym’s broken and bruised ribs.

Blackwall approached them, turning his attention to the Inquisitor. “What was that thing you did with the Anchor? A portal that sent the demons back to the Fade?”

Nym gave him a sheepish smile, trying not to fidget while Solas healed him. “I’m not sure myself, to be honest. It’s something I became aware I could do after the attack on Haven, when I was trying to get back to the Inquisition. I couldn’t really control it at first, but I’ve been practicing with Solas,” he turned to give the mage a grateful smile.

“And you managed to create it just like we practiced. It was impressive to see,” the apostate responded, before turning to the others, “Since Nymrodel can close fade rifts, it was logical to assume that he could also use the Anchor to open new ones. The real trick, however, was in figuring out how to open a one-sided portal that would only draw the demons back into the Fade and not let the ones on the other side through.”

“Dagna said something similar once; that the Anchor was a key that can be used either to open or close. I was afraid if I mess up I’d only make things worse by opening another rift…I’m relieved I was able to do it properly, just like you taught me,” Nym grinned at his mage friend and Solas returned the smile.

“Well whatever it is, if it helps us defeat the demons and Corypheus, I say you use it,” Bull concluded.

Nym hummed, “Yeah, but it takes quite a toll on my body. Right now, I can only do it once…any more than that and I think I would lose consciousness from exhaustion.”

“You had the same problem with closing rifts in the beginning, right? But look at you now, you can close a number of them per day and still fight your way through the enemy ranks,” Blackwall assured him, giving him a hardy slap on the back.

The rogue grunted as the contact made him realize even his back was sore. Nonetheless, he let out a breathless chuckle, “You’re right.”

“You’ll master it soon enough, da’len,” Solas nodded in agreement.

The moment was broken when Mihris stood up from the boulder she was sitting on. She, like all the others, had to rest to regain some of her mana and stamina after the fight. “My work here is done, so I will take my leave,” she announced, giving one final greeting towards Nymrodel, before turning to leave.

In thought, Nym stared at the woman’s back. Her clan was gone and she was all alone, fighting these rift demons by herself. She even lent them her aid, risking her life to help them. Did she even have anywhere to go? Nym doubted it; she said herself that she was looking for a clan to take her in. But perhaps, it didn’t need to be a clan.

“Wait,” he called out.

The mage stopped in her tracks, turning around in interest.

“We have a camp nearby. It’s safe, and you can get plenty of rest there. Also, a warm meal,” he suggested.

Mihris cast her gaze from Nym to the rest of the group, contemplating whether they could be trusted. She mulled over his offer, biting her bottom lip in thought. With a nod, she agreed, “Very well. I suppose there is no harm in that.”

Overjoyed she accepted, the Inquisitor smiled brightly. He worried for her, seeing how she traveled all alone through the wilderness. By the way she handled herself in the ruin, he knew her magic was quite proficient; but between the Venatori and the Red Templars, one mage was still an easy target. Even one that was taught how to use the forest to their advantage to remain invisible, which every Dalish learned early on.

~…..~

The sun was low on the horizon, slowly setting beneath the Hinterlands’ hills in the distance. First pale lights appeared in the darkening sky. The campfire burned brightly, for warmth rather than cooking. The Inquisition group ate together with the soldiers guarding the camp, finishing what was left of Nym’s previous hunt.

Mihris sat next to Nymrodel while they talked about the Inquisition, the enemies who appeared after the Breach was closed, and about Orlais’ civil war, which was the talk in every corner of the Dales and beyond.

“You have other Dalish in the Inquisition?” The woman looked truly surprised by that fact. She stared at him with an incredulous look.

 He nodded, “Not many, but yes. There is Neria of Clan Ralaferin. She serves as a diplomat, between the Inquisition and the Dalish – she’s become an emissary for the Dalish, I suppose.”

If possible, Mihris’s eyes widened more, and Nym had to struggle not to laugh at the face she was making. “After meeting you I suppose the shems are willing to work with a Dalish elf…but they are also ready to listen to the Dalish enough to allow us an emissary?” Her skeptical gaze clearly stated she had qualms believing that.

He shrugged, “It’s true. Neria does all she can to see that the interests of the Dalish are not forgotten amidst the chaos, and I am grateful for that. I try to do the same thing, of course, but she can go where I, as the Inquisitor, often cannot. A lot of times there is trouble brewing where I can’t be personally, so Neria helps.”

Mihris hummed in thought, “Ralaferin clan, is it?”

The Ralaferin clan was often scorned by other clans because of how their previous Keeper Gisharel shared much of the Dalish folklore with the shemlen. Personally, Nymrodel didn’t disrespect them for it, especially after talking to Neria. She, like Keeper Gisharel, believed knowledge and understanding was what led to peace. Sharing Dalish culture was a way to create a bridge between them and the rest of the world, so the others could have a better understanding of the elves and bin their stereotypical opinions of them being murderous savages. Interestingly, Neria’s way of thinking was quite similar to the certain Lady Ambassador’s that Lavellan was friends with, which is why she was offered the position of an intermediary in the first place.

“There are also a few Dalish mercenaries who joined the fight after Haven fell. One of them is a good friend mine, and a comrade to the big guy over there.” He gestured at the Iron Bull with a grin.

Bull raised a tankard of something that was certainly alcoholic and returned the grin. “Best damn magical support you’ll want to guard your back,” he laughed. Then he cleared his throat when both Solas and Mihris stared at him blankly. “No offense,” he shrugged his tattooed shoulder.

“There’s also Heir. She is…a bit peculiar, but a skilled rogue. She is currently training me in the assassination arts.”

“Ah yes…the young lady that often trains near the stables…,” Blackwall started, but there was an awkward look in his eyes. “I’ve seen her around. Even tried talking to her once…As you said, she is a bit…eccentric. Then again, who am I to judge,” the Warden shrugged.

“Grey Wardens, mercenaries, Dalish, mages, former templars…this Inquisition is a strange organization. I would never have believed there would be so many various people working together. And all these shems…listening to _you_ ,” she turned to Nymrodel in wonder.

He gave her a sheepish smile. “There’s a whole Council, it’s not only me. I just got the title…and the weird glowing mark,” he smirked mirthfully.

“He’s being modest,” Blackwall chuckled.

Nymrodel gave Mihris an empathic look. “What about you? Can you tell us more about what happened to your clan,” he asked carefully, knowing he was prying into something that wasn’t really his business. Even so, a whole clan wiped out by a demon wasn’t a common thing, and it made him anxious. Especially since his own clan seemed to be in trouble these days.  

She sighed, gazing into the fire to avoid the inquisitive stares. For a moment Nym thought she wouldn’t answer him, but then she spoke. “My clan was situated in the Dales when we got involved with the nobles and their Civil war in Orlais. A strange Dalish mage came to us. He sometimes worked with Keeper Thelhen, exchanging information, but nobody knew what clan he hailed from. By his magical prowess, he should’ve been a Keeper, yet he traveled the Dales, going between the city and the clans, instead. Felassan was his name.”

Nym furrowed his eyebrows, “Felassan?” He noticed Solas shifting in his seat, although he kept his gaze on the fire. _*I guess even he, who usual keeps to himself, is getting interested in the story,*_ he supposed.

She nodded. “But the last time he came to our clan was different. With him, he brought a Flat-ear girl and…Empress Celene herself, along with her Chevalier bodyguard. Apparently they were in trouble after a Coup d'état on the Empress.”

Lavellan was sure he was making a baffled expression because his jaw fell slack. “Wait…Empress Celene!? As in…the Empress of Orlais!?”

“For now,” she muttered bitterly. “I heard her cousin, Gaspard, is also fighting for the throne. But shem politics do not interest me. My clan wasn’t interested in it either, so they tied up Celene and _Michele_ – her warrior,” she spat out the name of Celene’s bodyguard in disgust. The hate in her voice was evident to anyone listening. “He was half an elf himself, yet acted as if elves were a lower race, casting words like ‘knife-ear’ around easily,” she complained through gritted teeth. Hearing this, even Lavellan felt annoyed by the Orlesian chevalier. “The Flat-ear and hahren Felassan were free to walk amongst us, and tried to convince the Keeper and our clan to help Celene,” Mihris explained, then snorted, “As if we would help the Empress and her nobles who hunted us down and took our lands from us! They were foolish to come to us and expect help. Especially since the Empress burned down the Halamshiral alienage a day prior. We might not have much in common with the city elves, but even they are preferable to shem nobles,” she hissed.

Nym gripped the fabric of his pants with both hands, digging his blunt nails into his thighs. He swallowed hard, feeling anger rise inside him. Hahren Zatvel’s face flashed into his mind; he was from the Val Royeaux alienage, but Nym was sure all alienage elves suffered equally. With if it had been Zatvel’s alienage that the Empress had burned…he would have never met the kind hahren. Or what if Celene one day decided the Val Royeaux alienage is also a danger, and does the same thing as she did to the poor Halamshiral elves. “The Empress burned down the alienage?” His voice was low as he asked, almost a whisper. It was unacceptable, no matter the reason. As if the city elves aren’t suffering enough in those damned places! Unforgivable! He had to stop the rage bubbling inside him before it reached the surface, and he willed himself to unclench his jaw. He didn’t even realize he was gritting his teeth an anger.

Mihris nodded, “I do not know the details, but yes. Apparently, they rebelled. And yet, this Briala, the Flat-ear, was trying to make us help that shem bitch,” the woman sneered. “Of course we refused. But there was another problem…,” her eyes turned to the side with guilt. “Keeper Thelhen summoned a powerful demon and trapped it in Elgar'arla. He wanted to make the demon help us with an ancient elven artifact. That was a mistake. The demon was…Imshael – one of The Forbidden Ones,” she revealed.

Nym gaped, “Was he _crazy_!?” Perhaps speaking ill of the dead was wrong, but he couldn’t help his outburst.

“Imsha-what?” Blackwall frowned.

“Yeah, how ‘bout explaining that to the rest of us, Boss?”

Yet Solas was the one who offered an explanation, “The Forbidden Ones are powerful ancient demons, rumored to predate even the Darkspawn. During a calamity that swept across Elvhenan, they abandoned the People and gave up their physical forms to become mutable spirits. Thus the Evanuris declared them exiled from their lands.”

Mihris scowled at him, “How do _you_ know all this?”

Iron Bull slightly raised his hand, “Let me guess; the answer involves the Fade.”

“It always involves the Fade,” Lavellan joined in jokingly.

Balckwall just laughed, but Solas sighed in exasperation at all of them.

The woman cleared her throat, “But yes, you are correct. And then, while all the hahren and the Keeper were discussing what to do with the shems, Michel broke free. He killed some of my clanmates, including-,” her voice broke and she gritted her teeth in suffering.

Nymrodel’s gaze softened as the humorous atmosphere from before suddenly changed into a sullen one. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder, “Lethallan, if this is too hard to speak of…”

But she shook her head to deny it. “No. I’m okay.” She tried again, “Michel killed the man I loved. And then he broke the Spirit-trap, releasing Imshael.” Her voice faltered for a while and she stopped to take a breath.

“Shit,” Bull murmured, knowing exactly where the story was going.

“The demon…killed everyone. No, not just killed…tortured, skinned alive, killed in most brutal ways imaginable. He left the children alive, however. Not because of mercy, but simply because he knew they would be a burden to another clan, especially during winter. The shortage of food and supplies would make the clan with too much children struggle…maybe even do something drastic for their survival. He simply wanted to inflict more pain and misery in the future.”

Solas frowned, “That is bizarre.”

“I could go with stronger words than ‘ _bizarre_ ,’” Nym grumbled, his voice a mix of anger and confusion.

The mage shook his head, “That isn’t what I meant. The Demons are usually corrupted and embody certain emotions. A rage demon can be nothing else but rage. It will attack with fire and fury, but it will never vary from that. They aren’t…creative, or sensible enough to make such plans for the future. But Imshael sounds…calculating. Whatever he is, he is much more dangerous than any demon we encountered from the fade rifts. Even more than Pride demons,” he explained.

“I…,” Mihris started, fiddling with her robes. “I wanted to kill Michel, I wanted revenge. But I couldn’t…in the end, I chose my own life rather than to sacrifice it for revenge,” she muttered. As she clamped up, they realized her story was over. Even if there was more to tell, she wasn’t prepared to share it.

“But _you_ survived,” came Bull’s observation. He was watching her with an insightful stare.

Lavellan knitted his eyebrows at him, not sure if that was relevant at the moment. Wouldn’t reminding her of that only make her feel worse; she probably already had survivor’s guilt as it is.

The woman pressed her lips together in a thin line. “It…spared me. Perhaps it was more fun to let me suffer the loss of my clan. I do not know.”

Now it was Solas’s turn to give her a knowing stare, “Ma harel, da’len.”

The others didn’t understand him, but Nym did. “What do you mean, Solas?” His gaze returned to Mihris who had a guilty expression written on her features. Her eyes darted around, avoiding Nymrodel’s. “Mihris?”

Closing her eyes, she sighed in resignation. “All right. I made a deal with Imshael…to get my revenge on Michel. But in the end, I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to die so...Hahren Felassan stopped me. Then he said something to Imshael to make him leave. And I….I have nothing now,” she confessed in a sad whisper.

“You made a deal with a _demon_?!” Bull growled in anger. “You gotta be kidding…This is why mages can’t be trusted!”

“Bull!” Nym’s gaze hardened as he cut off whatever rant the ex-Qunari was about to being. “Now is _not_ the time,” he hissed.

“That was foolish of you, da’len,” Solas sighed in disappointment.

Mihris bowed her head in shame, “I know…I was angry, my lover was dead, my clan was gone…I just wanted revenge. I have come to my senses since then.”

Nym bit his lip in thought. “Lethallan,” he started, taking her shoulders and gingerly turning her to face him. “I can’t even imagine what I would have done in your place; my whole clan gone…those who I think of as family,” he cut off, unable to even finish that thought. He shuddered in dread just at the idea of it. Especially since he knew clan Lavellan was having difficulties right now. Instead, he locked his eyes with hers, “You said you have nothing now, but that doesn’t have to be the case. Come with us. Join the Inquisition and help us defeat Corypheus. There is a lot more you can do for the world right now, and who knows…maybe you will find a place amongst us. Perhaps even a home,” he smiled.

“Boss…Are you sure that is a good idea,” Bull murmured with a frown. “We don’t want abominations walking among us.”

“Imshael is _gone_ ,” Mihris assured him, giving him a quick glare, before returning to look at the Inquisitor. She gave him an uncertain stare, thinking about it. “I…I don’t know.”

“I don’t know how I feel about all of this, but…you seem like an alright kid. As long as you stay away from demons,” Blackwall added.

Giving Lavellan a skeptical stare, Mihris tried to read his motives and whether his words were truly honest. “Is that why you invited me here? To try and get me to join your shem organization?”

 He gave her a bemused smirk. “No, but I thought there would be no harm in trying,” he shrugged. “And the Inquisition isn’t _my_ organization...it’s a combined effort. One that I have come to believe in,” he declared, surprising even himself. If his past self could hear him now. 

She bit her lip while pondering out loud, “I suppose I could do more good than fighting around elven ruins on my own. And I can look for another clan afterwards, or during our travels.”

“Perhaps I or Neria can help you with that,” Nym smiled.

Finally, Mihris concurred with a nod. “So be it. I will join your shem Inquisition,” she exclaimed before commenting in a mutter, “Words I never thought I would say.”

Lavellan grinned, “Good! I’m glad to have you, my friend.” Then his smile fell a little, “I still can’t believe all the horrible things that happened to you…and those poor alienage elves…” He shook his head, his expression morphing from sadness, to disgust and eventually anger. 

Mihris shrugged, not as concerned about the city elves as Nymrodel was.

“And what of this Felassan? He sounds like a powerful mage. Where is he now?”

Mihris shook her head, “I don’t know, but hahren was….different. He wasn’t like any Dalish elf I ever knew. His magic was powerful and he was very knowledgeable of the ancient days. I don’t know why he was so loyal to that flat-ear, though,” she scowled, before adding bitterly, “In the end, he chose her and the shems instead of his own People. He was a Harellan.”

“Like Fen’Harel,” Nym asked with a frown, and she nodded.

That’s when Solas abruptly stood from his seat, startling the others. The two other elves watched him curiously. “Forgive me, but I feel tired. I will retire for the evening.” He gave Nym and Mihris a quick nod, then walked off towards his tent. His expression, however, remained as stony as ever.

“What’s his problem?” Iron Bull hummed in thought, sensing something was unusual about the apostate’s behavior.

Nym also felt like it was too early in the night to rest, but he dismissed it. He figured Solas was just exhausted from listening to all that Dalish conversation, considering most of his experiences with the Dalish weren’t particularly pleasant, from what Nym gathered.

He was pleased Mihris decided to join them, however. She was wandering on her own, still trying to decide what her new meaning in life should be now that she was no longer the First of Clan Virnehn. In his experience with the Inquisition, he had learned to look at the world around him in a different light than before the Conclave. It led him to some strange places, and high-risk dangers, but also to new friendships and a better understanding of the world. He hoped it will help Mihris find herself anew, as well.

~……~

Back in Skyhold, the War Council was once again gathered to discuss the final preparations for their attack on Adamant.

“What of the equipment, do we have enough trebuchets?” Nym asked his Commander.

“Yes, we have enough military supplies, including weapons and armor. But the army is the true problem,” Cullen answered, furrowing his blonde eyebrows as he usually did during the War Table meetings.

“Are the men the nobles sent us not enough? Adding those numbers to the recruits that are pouring from all around Thedas, we should have enough people to storm the fortress,” Josephine raised one inquisitive eyebrow.

“It is not about the number but their preparedness. Half of those recruits are still green and inexperienced. Some of them have never _seen_ a battle before! We need more time to train them properly. I do not wish to send these men and women to their deaths without at least giving them a fighting chance,” the Commander argued.

“We don’t have time for that, Commander Cullen,” Stroud sternly interjected. “The Grey Wardens are still holed up in the fort, but for how long? Every day we wait is a day closer to that demon army they are trying to summon.”

Hawke grimaced, “For once, I agree with Stroud. Who knows what depravities that Magister Livius is concocting together with the Wardens. They must be stopped, before it becomes too late.”

“I agree, but we cannot use our people as fodder,” Cullen argued again.

“Nobody is suggesting that,” the ambassador pointed out.

“This demon army must be stopped…if they are to attack Thedas-,” Cassandra started, her eyes blazing in anger.

“They will raze it to the ground. We are well aware, Cassandra,” Leliana finished for her.

“You all have a point,” Nym muttered. “Cullen, I will give you some more time to prepare the new arrivals, but I can’t give you much. A week, at most. In that time, drill into them whatever you can about combat. Double their training, if you have to.”

Cullen huffed unhappily, “A week isn’t much…and increasing their training will leave them exhausted. So will the march to Adamant,” he commented.

“We have no choice, Commander,” the elf retorted in a terser voice, his gaze hardening. It wasn’t often that he had to establish authority in the War Room, and he didn’t like it, but sometimes there was no other way to agree on a decision. “Add stamina training along with their usual fighting drills. Do whatever it takes to get them ready.”

“If that is all, I think we can conclude out meeting,” their spymaster broke the tension slowly forming in the room.

As the room slowly cleared out, Hawke approached the Inquisitor, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I know you’re already under a lot of pressure about all of this, and don’t think I’m rushing you. I just don’t want any more lives being taken by blood magic. I’ve already seen enough of it for one lifetime.”

When Nym gave him a small nod in understanding, the apostate grinned and turned around to catch Cullen who was on his way out. He draped an arm over his shoulders, putting all his weight on the former Templar. “Now tell me Commander, did you really not know I was an apostate all that time in Kirkwall?” His tone was lighthearted and joking while he teased the man. He was more muscular than a regular mage, but the Commander kept his back straight, barely concerned by the additional weight on his shoulders. Even so, his frown visibly deepened.

Nym blinked, seeing the two exit with Hawke still pestering the blonde, trying to make him lighten up.

“Inquisitor,” Josephine’s voice garnered his attention towards her. He smiled politely at the Antivan woman, then noticed a concerned glint in her eyes. “If I could have a moment.”

They walked side-by-side out of the chamber in a slow pace. The ambassador started, “I heard about yours and Sera’s _encounter_ with Lord Harmond.” The word ‘encounter’ was very diplomatically put. In reality, Lord Harmond had an encounter with Sera’s knee…multiple times.

Nym pressed his lips together in an awkward expression. “It didn’t go the way I hoped it would,” he admitted.

“Didn’t go well-,” Josephine raised her voice in bewilderment, than stopped herself before she made an outburst. She collected herself again and spoke in a milder manner, “As vile as Lord Harmond’s actions were, he was still of Ferelden nobility, and Sera _killed_ him. I saw the reports and understand the circumstances, but I must advise against such brash behavior in the future. Do you have any idea how much time and resources it took for me to smooth things over with other lords?” Her Antivan accent was thicker than usual, indicating she was still upset, even if she didn’t let it show on her face.

Nym sighed, but he didn’t interrupt her lecture. She had every right to be upset, and he understood her concerns. “I know. To be honest, Sera surprised me too…she acted on her own accord, before I could stop her. I don’t think there _was_ stopping her at that moment.”

Some of anger melted away from Josephine’s stern expression, “Nym, you are the only one this quaint group listens to. You need better control over them, _especially_ Sera.”

He gave her a dubious stare, “Have you met Sera? She and a leash don’t go together…Or she and control for that matter.” When Josephine gave him a keen look as an answer, he sighed in defeat. “Don’t worry, I had a talk with her about it. I explained to her I will support her and her ‘friends,’ but she needs to keep herself in check from now on. Although thinking before acting really isn’t her forte.”

Josephine huffed, “That is putting it mildly.”

“In her defense, the guy really was an asshole,” he pointed out with a smirk.

“Oh I know, I’ve read your report…which wasn’t easy since Sera somehow got her hands on it first and scribbled her own comments and doodles all over it.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, before giving her a sheepish smile, “I’m sorry for the trouble we caused you. I know the nobles can be a real pain in the ass to deal with.”

Josephine chuckled while they strolled down the hall, heading towards her study. “Yes, but I am used to it. Dealing with them is what I do best,” she gave him a mischievous wink, and he grinned in return.

“And I did not mean to attack you, I apologize. To be honest, you have been doing a wonderful job. And how you deal with that bickering group who fight by your side, I will never know. Why, just the other day, when I told Iron Bull he had to put on a shirt for the soirée to meet with Baron Montevárd, he told me I was denying his Qunari heritage.” The only reason she didn’t roll her eyes was because she was raised not to show such ‘unrefined’ gestures.

Nym laughed, despite her disgruntled expression.

Then a shadow of concern passed her features, and he noticed her demeanor subtly shifted. It wasn’t about the usual troubles of her ambassador position, or her vexation with Nymrodel’s companions. This was something else; something darker.

“Josephine, what is it?”

The woman bit her lip as if she was determined to keep the words trapped inside her. But the Inquisitor’s interrogative gaze wore her down and she conceded. She told him everything. About her family’s possible destitution and their troubles. About the Montilyets’ ban from trading, and how she almost solved their problems only to have her runners assassinated and the documents burned. Finally, she told him about Comte Boisvert who claimed to have information on the matter.

“Why didn’t you tell me all of this sooner?” The elf demanded.

Fidgeting with her dress nervously, she explained, “In truth, I was reluctant to ask you to use your influence as the Inquisitor to help with my personal matters. But now, I have no one else to turn to.”

“Josephine, these are the kinds of things I’m actually happy to do as the Inquisitor. Helping people and my friends is ten time better than killing and sitting in judgment.”

“But Comte Boisvert will use the Inquisition for his own influence!”

“Isn’t that what the rest of these nobles are doing too? I doubt most of them help the Inquisition from the kindness of their hearts. They all believe it will bring them some sort of leverage later on; even if it’s just our support or affiliation they can use as a badge to wear.” Nym shrugged, seeing no difference between this Comte and the nobility he had met previously.

“I suppose you are right about that. Very well, once I make arrangements, we can go meet him in Val Royeaux.”

He nodded in agreement, then gave her a wide grin. “If that’s all, I have to go see a dwarf about a book.”

Josephine was left standing in her study, watching him with a confused expression as he disappeared out the door.

~……~

Luckily, he didn’t have to go far to find the aforementioned dwarf. He walked over to Varric who was scribbling something down with his favorite quill – the one he always used when writing new novels. “Do you have it?”

A wide smile slowly spread across his friend’s features. He lifted a book and waved it in front of Nym’s face. “I have it right here.” He was practically beaming, “Ooh, I can’t wait to see the Seeker’s expression.”

They found Cassandra in her usual spot at the training grounds. She was swinging her sword onto the defenseless dummies that trembled every time her blade landed in a heavy blow.

Varric faltered in his step, his grin falling from his lips. “Maybe we should do this when she doesn’t have a weapon in hand.”

His friend pushed him forward as encouragement. “Come on, this is supposed to make her _happy,_ right?”

The woman noticed them as they approached and stopped her practice. As soon as she saw Varric, her face twisted into a scowl. Evidently she wasn’t fully over everything that happened with Hawke.

“What have you done now?” Walking to the pair, she stared at Varric with a mistrustful look in her eyes.

The man sighed, “I get it, Seeker. You’re still sore after our little spat.” He put his hands in front of him defensively as he spoke.

_*Little? That’s putting it mildly,*_ Nym mused, remembering how Cass tried to strangle the dwarf at one point, but kept the comment to himself.

Cassandra didn’t look pleased either. Her scowl deepened as her temper rose, forming a glower in her darkening eyes. “I was trying to put it all behind me, in fact! But you are the one who keeps reminding me.”

All of a sudden, Varric had second thoughts about this whole idea, wondering if it was truly a good one. He glanced back at Nymrodel with a pointed look that said this wasn’t working, but the elf just gestured for him to keep going. “A peace offering,” he started, and handed her his latest novel. “A next chapter of Swords & Shields. I hear you’re a fan.”

Various emotions crossed Cassandra’s face. First there was confusion, then excitement, and finally realization that turned her features into a dark scowl as she looked up at Nymrodel. _*Uh-oh,*_ the elf stiffened at her accusatory stare.

“This is _your_ doing,” she stated.

Rubbing his arm awkwardly, he tried to defend himself, “Yes, but it was for a good cause.”

Varric simply shrugged his shoulders, feigning a laid-back expression. “Well, if you’re not interested, you’re not interested. Still needs editing anyhow.” He turned on his heel to leave, taking the book with him. All that bartering and dealing with the Merchants’ Guild taught him a thing or two about manipulation. Nym had to hide his smirk at how leisurely the dwarf was playing the situation.

On the other hand, Cassandra saw none of that ploy. Flustered, her heart almost jumped out of her chest when she saw he was leaving _with_ the book. “Wait!” Nym wasn’t sure he ever saw the woman so agitated. She almost leaped after Varric.

When the dwarf turned, he held a smug smile. “Ah. You’re probably wondering what happens to the Knight-Captain after the last chapter.”

Cassandra gasped, her face paling. Nym was sure he saw her less worried when they fought Behemoths and giants on the battlefield. “Nothing should happen to her. She was falsely accused!”

“Well, it turns out the guardsman-,” Varric started, only to be cut off.

“Don’t _tell_ me!” She snatched the book from his hands. After that, Nym couldn’t hold his laughter in anymore. 

The dwarf cleared his throat, “This is the part where you thank Snow. I don’t normally give sneak peeks, after all.” Still smirking, he gave the chuckling elf a sly glance.

She frowned at both of them for a moment, then sighed deeply. Slowly, her features untangled until they shifted into a smile. A genuine, appreciative smile. “I….thank you.”

Both rogues grinned. “It’s all thanks to Varric,” Lavellan shrugged.

The woman could barely keep her hands off the book or her attention on them. She was already glancing at the first page, getting herself absorbed into the story. “I wonder if I have time to read the first part.”

Varric nudged him and gestured for them to subtly go and leave Cassandra to her new preoccupation. “Don’t forget to tell all your friends…if you have any,” the storyteller muttered the last part, getting a light punch in the shoulder from Nym.

As they left, Nym gave his friend a perceptive smile. “You’re good.” He had to admit he was a bit impressed by the other’s mastery in manipulating…at least when it came to Cass.

The dwarf laughed, then let out a long, pleased breath. “Completely worth it,” he affirmed, still smiling to himself.

~……~

He twisted his body in the air as he jumped, flinging five throwing knives at the training dummies surrounding him. Each blade hit its mark right between the eyes of his imaginary opponents.

Cassandra was still nose-deep in her book, reading it somewhere in seclusion. That opened up a place for Nym to train his assassin techniques he learned from Heir. In the distance, he could hear Cullen shouting at the new recruits, his voice overpowering even the ringing of clashing steel. The Inquisition troops had their own, much bigger, training grounds that they used to prepare for the upcoming battle, leaving Nym to train in peace on his own.

“Boss,” the voice startled him. As soon as he landed on the ground, he whipped turned to see Iron Bull standing behind him.

“Oh, Bull. What’s up?” He greeted him, trying to keep his voice casual. In reality, he could feel the pace of his heart quickening. At least he could pretend it was from his earlier exercise. On his way over to the Tal-Vashoth, he took a towel from a nearby fence and wiped his sweaty forehead and neck with it.

The two didn’t speak much after their return to Skyhold. Not because they were on bad terms now, but because Lavellan understood the other needed some time alone to sort through everything that happened to him. It also gave Nym some time and space to try and untangle his own mess of feelings towards Bull. Although that resulted in him simply craving the man’s company more. In truth, he missed the raucous warrior; the long talks, the bad jokes over a pint of ale, Wicked Grace games he usually lost to him…He missed spending time with him.

“I was wondering if you’d help me with something,” the larger man spoke, rather cryptically. He gestured for Nymrodel to follow him.

The elven rogue was never one for patience when it came to satiating his curiosity. They were barely halfway across the courtyard when he tilted his head up to look at Bull. “What’s all this about?”

“You’ll see,” came a calm, but dismissive response.

Nym frowned, not at all content with that answer. Bull was acting strange; he seemed his relaxed self, but there was no usual smile on his lips, or that lively glint in his eye. The elf was starting to get nervous as numerous ideas entered his mind; _What if Bull noticed his feelings for him?_ After all, even Dalish noticed how suspiciously awkward he acted around Bull lately, so surely, a former Ben-Hassrath could see it too. _What if he was about to confront him on the matter?_ A thick lump started to form in his throat as he walked next to the Tal-Vashoth in silence.

As if trying to change the subject, Bull asked, “How’s your body? All better after that Pride demon?”

Nym could see what Bull was trying to do, but he went along with it. Honestly, he was grateful to keep his mind off the grim ideas. He gave him a reassuring smile, “All good. After combining Solas’s healing magic and some health potions, I’m as good as new.” He grinned, flexing his arm muscles to prove his point and brighten the tense mood between them.

The ex-Qunari chuckled, but it only lasted for a moment before he turned somber again. “Good. When that Pride demon grabbed you, you had me worried for a second. I thought…,” he trailed off, trying to find the right words.

The elf blinked in question, “Thought what?”

He shook his head, then let out a loud heave as if exhaling all the feelings that bottled inside of him. “Nah, forget it. It’s fine. _You’re_ fine. That’s all that matters.” He abruptly stopped in his tracks, and Nym realized they had scaled up the battlements and entered one of the parapets. So immersed in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice their heading until now. “We’re here,” Bull announced and opened the door that led outside.

Shaking his head, the Inquisitor furrowed his brows in confusion. “What are we doing here – enjoying the view?”

 He saw two Inquisition agents patrolling along the battlement wall, but other than that, there was nothing of interest. Bull had his back turned to them, but as the first guard approached, the giant spun around and slammed a fist into his face.

Nym stepped back in shock, his eyes wide and mouth slack. The Inquisition guard stumbled backwards, blood gushing from his broken nose. He wanted to shout at Bull, to ask what in the Creators’ name was he doing, but then the other guard brought out a knife and threw it right into Bull’s shoulder. “Bull!” He exclaimed in alarm instead, grabbing the hilt of one of his daggers.

“I got it,” the man answered in an abnormally relaxed tone for someone who just got stabbed.

He yanked the dagger out of his shoulder and sent it back at the guard, piercing his throat. Blood splattered around his uniform before he toppled over on his back.

The guard with the broken nose finally found his bearings, and rose back to his feet on shaky legs. He hissed something in Qunlat, giving Bull a hateful, dirty glare. “Ebost Issala, Tal-Vashoth!” Whatever he said, Bull didn’t like it. Expression twisting in anger, he snarled as he grabbed the man by the shoulders. With a grunt, he picked him up like the man weighted nothing and threw him over the battlement. They could hear the man scream all the way down before it was cut off by what could only be him hitting the ground.

“Yeah, yeah, my soul’s dust. Yours is scattered all over the ground, though, so…,” he trailed off and grunted in irritation instead of finishing his thought, before he examined his stab wound with a grimace. He noticed Lavellan hurrying over to him in concern. “Sorry, Boss. I thought I might need backup.” He shrugged, ignoring the stinging pain that action caused in his shoulder, “Guess I’m not even worth sending professionals for.”

Nym took a moment to wrap his head around everything that just happened. He had to remind himself to close his mouth and stop gaping. Hearing the guard speak in Qunlat and calling Bull Tal-Vashoth, he concluded those could only be Ben-Hassrath agents that infiltrated the Inquisition to kill Iron Bull. The thought that their organization could be so easily infiltrated froze the blood in his veins, but weirdly enough, it appeared Bull was expecting them. “You knew the assassins were coming for you?”

“Little change in the guard rotation tipped me off,” he explained.

Nym could feel his frustration rising. Mostly because of the assassins sneaking in the Inquisition, trying to kill one of his comrades, and with him being none the wiser about any of it. But also because Iron Bull _knew_ and didn’t say anything to him. Currently, Bull was the only one left to aim that frustration at. “You could’ve told me that earlier!” He couldn’t help rising his voice in agitation.

“You go through years of Ben-Hassrath training to hide facial expressions when I wasn’t looking?” Bull stared him down with a stony expression.

Nym pressed his lips together, but felt his anger subside. Bull was right _…*Although it’s still irritating that he’s such a smartass about it.*_ He was still bothered, though, and his gaze fell down to his feet – he couldn’t help feeling tricked, and it openly showed on his face.

Iron Bull smirked, “See? Like that.” Nym’s pointy ears twitched when he realized he just proved Bull’s point. The Tal-Vashoth continued, “If I warned you or the guards, the assassins would’ve been tipped off.”

He sighed in resignation. “Still…you could’ve ended up worse than having only an injured shoulder. What if they had used poison?”

“Oh, they _definitely_ used poison. Saar-qamek, liquid form.” The elf almost chocked at that. “If I haven’t been dosing myself with the antidote, I’d be going crazy and puking my guts out by now,” he growled. “As it is, it stings like shit, but that’s about it.”

That’s when Nym realized exactly how prepared Bull was for this. He knew it was coming, and the man was smart enough to cover every possibility that could go wrong for him. Once again he was left impressed by how clever this former spy truly was. He gave Bull a worried look under his eyebrows, “So you are all right?”

The Iron Bull snorted, “Just fine. I hurt myself worse than this fooling around in bed.” Nym felt a light glow on his cheeks at that admission. The picture involuntarily entered his mind and wouldn’t leave. There was once a time when such talk from Bull didn’t bother him or make him react…oh, how he missed those days.

Luckily, he was still too upset to focus on his own embarrassment. The Ben-Hassrath went too far by targeting Bull, and inside Skyhold no less! “Do you want to retaliate?” He didn’t know how they would go about doing that, but if Bull had any ideas, he was prepared to listen.

He discounted it immediately, “Against who? The entire Ben-Hassrath? Besides, this wasn’t serious.” A stab wound in his shoulder would suggest otherwise, in Nym’s opinion. “Sending two guys with blades against _me_? That’s not a hit, that’s a formality. Just making it clear that I’m Tal-Vashoth.” Bull sighed, shaking his head as his rugged features contorted in disgust, “Tal-Va- _Fucking_ -shoth!”

Lavellan’s gaze softened when he saw the anger in Bull’s eye. He knew that anger was only masking the pain behind it. It was frustrating; the thought of Bull beating himself up because of his betrayal of the Qun. And now was the perfect opportunity for both of them to talk about everything that happened. To deal with any unresolved issues left behind after the Storm Coast. He curled up his hands into fists and shook his head. “You are the same Iron Bull who I’ve always known. You acted like a Tal-Vashoth for years, and that didn’t change you. This is no different. You are _you_ ,” he locked his intense gaze with Bull’s, trying to convey his sentiment along with words. _*The man I respect. The man I call friend. He is still the same Iron Bull.*_

But Bull refused to listen. “That was just a role. This is my _life_ , as one of those…,” he stopped himself before the loathsome word was repeated. He couldn’t even get it passed his lips. “I killed hundreds of Tal-Vashoth in Seheron. Bandits, murderers, bastards who turned their back on the Qun.” He grimaced as if physically aching, “And now I’m one of them.”

“Bullshit!” Nym’s harsh reply surprised even himself, and it definitely took Bull off guard. “You are not like them. You’re a good man.”

Bull clenched his jaw. His tone was hollow, repeating words he learnt by heart long ago, “Without the Qun to live by-”

Lavellan didn’t want to hear it, “Hey!” The side of his fist thumped against Bull’s chest, his intense blue gaze piercing right through the Ta-Vashoth. The hit probably felt more like a tickle to the brawny warrior, but his intention wasn’t to hurt him anyway. He just wanted to get his attention. “You are a good man,” he repeated slowly, emphasizing every word. His eyes burned when he continued, “Whether you are with the Qun or not won’t change that fact. If the Ben-Hassrath don’t see that, it’s their loss.”

After a long silence of both of them simply staring at each other, Bull finally sighed in resignation. “Thanks, Boss.”

Being a former Ben-Hassrath agent and an excellent liar, Nym couldn’t tell if Bull truly believed in his words or did he only agree because he wanted to lay the matter to rest once and for all. Either way, it would have to be good enough for now.

He nodded, then took a step back when he realized how close they were to each other. He could feel Bull’s breath in his hair and kept his head lowered to conceal the slight blush forming on his cheeks. His heart was racing from adrenaline, though he couldn’t tell was it from the attack, the argument or simply because of his close proximity to the warrior. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. I pushed you to make that choice, and you became Tal-Vashoth because of it. I’ll take responsibility so-”

He was cut off when Bull lifted his chin so he could meet his eyes. Crystal-blue orbs met a grey one. “Do you regret it?” Bull’s voice was low and careful as he asked. A precise, blunt question, followed by an analytical stare that nobody could hide from. It was impossible to lie to this man. But Nymrodel didn’t have to.

“No,” his response was instant, a bit surprised Bull would even ask him such a thing. Then his gaze faltered and he glanced around, casting it everywhere but up at the Tal-Vashoth. “I’m glad we pulled back and saved the Chargers - I will never regret that. But you were in that mission because you were all fighting for the Inquisition in the first place. It’s the reason you had to choose between the Chargers and your people…That’s what I’m sorry for. I know how much you hate being Tal-Vashoth yet…,” he trailed off. Whatever he said now, it wouldn’t make it right. There was no turning back, and no words could fix what has already been broken. He didn’t feel guilty for pushing Bull to make that choice and save the Chargers, but he knew that every time Bull beats himself up for being Tal-Vashoth, Nym is going to feel some of that hurt...feel the blame. But it was something he was prepared to live with…be _happy_ to live with, if it meant saving Krem and his men.

He felt a large hand on his cheek, surprisingly gentle for the ex-Qunari reaver. He could feel the rough callouses against his soft skin, but it felt good – it felt _real,_ which is exactly what he needed in his moment of disbelief that Iron Bull was touching him so carefully, like he was someone precious and not just another comrade in arms. Bull made him meet his gaze again, “You have nothing to feel sorry about. I know I should feel guilty for abandoning the Qun, but I don’t…not as much as I expected. Because it saved my guys. Ultimately, it was my decision to save the Chargers, so you have no reason to feel responsible. Boss…Whatever I miss, whatever I regret… _this_ is where I want to be,” he explained in a soft voice. There was something genuine and signifying in his tone – an unspoken connotation behind his seemingly simple words.

Nym felt captivated by the man’s steel-colored eye, unable to break contact between them. He felt a squeezing in his chest that left him breathless. It was in that moment he realized how important this man standing in front of him truly was to him. And how fortunate he was, having him by his side.

Bull broke the mood first, clearing his throat and letting go of the elf. He rolled his injured shoulder, hoping the stinging sensation will help him regain his senses to his usual self. “Anyway, I’ll get this cleaned up and let Red know what happened.”

“R-right,” Lavellan nodded, blinking away his daze.

Before he left, the large Tal-Vashoth smirked at him, “And remember; whenever you need an ass kicked, the Iron Bull is with you.” His smirk stretched into a shrewd smile, before he left the battlements.

Nym was left staring at the empty space where Bull was standing only moments before. He swallowed hard at his own muddled mind, _*My chest hurts…*_ Realizing his fleeting thought, he quickly shook his head, losing the somber expression he was carrying. _*No, no, no, don’t think about it!*_ But one thing was clear; he couldn’t deny his feelings for this man anymore.

He was left pacing along the fortress’s wall, alone with his confusing thoughts, where he could reflect in peace. “Look at me, I’m acting like some kind of blushing maiden!” He was handling himself completely unprofessional. The world was falling apart and he had a _crush_! A romantic interest! Now, of all times! What would his advisers say if they knew? They would mock him, look down upon him, throw him out of the Inquisition! Okay, maybe not that last one since he _was_ the Inquisitor, but still…He sighed, feeling drained from all energy. _*What do I do with these feelings?*_ He even tried putting some distance between himself and Bull, yet ultimately that failed too. All of his attempts to push down his desires proved futile in the end, and every time those desires only came back stronger. 

“Don’t worry,” Cole’s voice sounded by his side as the odd young man appeared seemingly out of thin air.

“Ah!” Nym jumped to the side like a startled cat, eyes wide with freight. “C-Cole? What? How long have you been here!?”

The blonde put a finger on his chin as he pondered on the question. “From the start? I thought he might need help. But then you started talking about something important so I didn’t want to interrupt. You were untangling his hurt. That was good.”

Nymrodel’s jaw was still hanging low while he tried to find the right words - any comment on this - but couldn’t. He was too bewildered to speak.

Which was for the best, since Cole continued, “Salt-spray smell of Seheron. Lost in smoke from a burning ship. Guilt at not feeling guiltier.”

Lavellan stopped gawking when he realized Cole was talking about the Iron Bull. So that was how he felt – then perhaps the words Bull had told him were genuine, after all. The boy was now staring at him intently, enough to cause unease. “What?” He raised one eyebrow in question, a part of him unsure whether he truly wanted to know.

 “You are bothered too…about him. But I can’t see it clearly, and I don’t know how to help. You…want him? What does that mean-”

Nym lunged at him, covering his mouth with both hands. He laughed almost maniacally, only comforted by the fact that there was no one else around them to hear. “Don’t worry about it, I’m fine! Completely fine! Never better!” His nervous laughter continued. “So just keep that to yourself, ok?”

“Okfay,” came a muffled reply.

~……~

But he was not fine. He was so far from fine. His emotions were still muddled, almost as much as his drunken mind at the moment, while he stared at his fifth glass of Mackay's Epic Single Malt. His body held a gentle sway as he sat at the bar, where he took another large gulp of his beverage, then tried to blink the haze away.

It was already evening when he decided to visit the Herald’s Rest for a much-needed drink. It was packed with people, while the smell of good food and loud, joyful music enriched the atmosphere. Nobody paid attention to the inebriated Inquisitor who was slowly drinking himself into unconsciousness and hoping if he drinks himself into a dead sleep, maybe the dreams of Iron Bull ravaging him won’t come tonight. At least the Tal-Vashoth wasn’t in the tavern, so Nym didn’t have to worry about his glazed eyes flashing towards him every once in a while. He wasn’t capable of such subtlety at the moment and would probably end up staring at the man the entire night.

He hiccupped, then ordered another drink from Cabot who gave him a cautionary stare. “You should take it easy, Inquisitor.”

“Pft. _You_ should take it easy,” the elf pointed his finger at the dwarf, then hiccupped again. Or at least he tried to point at the barkeep, only to realize there were two of them and he couldn’t tell which one was real. This Malt was stronger than he expected.

A shadow passed by in the corner of his eye, but the elf barely acknowledged the man who came to sit next to him. He was a human, wearing an Inquisition uniform of the soldiers. Probably a relatively new recruit since he wore a face Nym didn’t recognize.

“Mind if I join you, Your Worship,” the man flashed him a bright smile. His accent sounded familiar to Cassandra’s, so he was probably Nevarran. Much like Nymrodel, he was far from home.

He shrugged, trying not to slur his words as he answered, “Sure.” In his stupor, he didn’t notice Iron Bull entering the tavern with a few of his mercenaries.

“It’s unusual to see you drinking all alone,” the human noted.

“Oh? Were you watching me so often that you would know?” Nym taunted with a smirk. He was trying to figure the guy out. Most people were too intimidated to approach him outside of work-related business. Other than a few people, mostly in his inner circle of friends, nobody dared to just start chatting up the Inquisitor with a drink in their hand.

The man laughed despite his provocation. “Perhaps I was,” he challenged back, then ordered two more drinks of what Lavellan was having. He slid one to the elf, and raised the other in his hand. “To you, I suppose.”

Was he flirting with him? Nym couldn’t quite tell, but it felt a bit like it. The man’s dark eyes were glued to him, and there was something intense in them…something almost tangible.

“To drinking,” Nym snorted, deciding he was probably overthinking it. He took a long swig of his drink and slammed the glass back on the wooden bar.

While the other drank, he examined the man in front of him. He was in his late twenties, older than Nym. Thick mane of brown hair framed his face, with two dark piercing eyes that kept their steady gaze on him. The man looked a bit rugged, like he was used to rough outdoor conditions, but in a handsome way. It meant he wasn’t one of those lords who joined the Inquisition for status and glory this war would earn them, but most likely a commoner who took up a sword to help their cause. 

“I must say…,” the human started, leaning closer to the Inquisitor. “I can see why other people are intimidated by you. It must be lonely...not having anyone to keep you company, with everyone tiptoeing around you all day.” He was speaking very low now, forcing Nym to focus solely on him so he could hear.

The elf swallowed, sobering up a little by the situation. Now he was certain – he was _definitely_ hitting on him! And the man was being pretty open about it too. Very _inviting_.

“But _you’re_ not afraid of me,” he countered with a smirk, his reply sounding faintly derisive. It was more of a statement than a question.

The man chuckled, then shrugged. “Maybe I am…but I’m brave enough to come talk to you anyway?” Surprising the elf, he offered him a hand for a handshake, “My name is Thommas, Inquisitor.”

Nym hesitated for only a split second, staring at that hand, yet it felt like eternity in his hazy mind. He shook it, in the end, while answering, “Nym,” before mentally hitting himself over the head for it. _*Of course he already knows your name, you idiot!*_

Instead of letting go, Thommas gently squeezed his smaller hand. Those dark eyes branded his very soul when the human smiled. “Does that mean I have permission to call you by your name,” he whispered the question.

Nym tried to stay casual despite how he kept blankly staring at their adjoined hands. He swallowed a lump in his throat, his lips suddenly becoming dry. “I don’t care that much about titles anyway,” he admitted, then almost bit his tongue. Josephine would surely scold him if she heard him say that to the ‘faithful’ troops who follow the Inquisitor. He wasn’t just a person to them, but a symbol. Alas, tonight his tongue was faster than his drunken mind.

Thommas laughed. He let go of Nym’s hand, but slowly lowered his own until only the tips of his fingers were resting against Lavellan’s knee. Nym gulped again. Now he was certain this man was inviting him sexually, and rather zealously too. His initial thought came almost instantly; to refuse. To move away and politely decline the offer. He didn’t have any experience with men, and he had someone else he was already interested in. He opened his mouth to say any of those arguments, only to lose his voice. Another notion wormed its way into his mind and it stopped him from quickly refusing.  

_Maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing_ , a part of his mind whispered. Maybe pining over Bull all this time was just simple curiosity on his part. Perhaps, once he gets it out of his system, he will be able to forget the whole thing. And he’ll never have to worry about compromising his friendship with Bull again. Slowly, he closed his mouth. _*Maybe with this man I’ll be able to forget about it all,*_ he mused darkly. The man was still smiling at him while he continued to speak, but Nymrodel was barely paying attention to it.

~……~

The pair talking at the tavern bar didn’t notice there was one more person eyeing them. Iron Bull was relaxing in his usual seat at the side table, legs stretched out and ankles crossed. Yet despite his laid-back demeanor, his eye was as sharp as silverate steel. He was examining the duo with interest. They were too far away to hear their conversation, but their body language was enough to give him a clear idea of what was going on.

By Nymrodel’s gentle sway and unfocused gaze, it was obvious the elf was drunk. The almost empty bottle of malt was a pretty good telltale, too. But the unknown man dressed in a soldier’s uniform wasn’t intoxicated at all. He looked completely clear-headed as he eyed the elf up and down like a piece of meat. A small growl, barely audible, escaped the Tal-Vashoth’s throat. He tapped a finger against the wood, and every time he saw the human scoot closer to Lavellan, that tapping intensified in an impatient pace.

Bull was never a jealous man, especially with how he was raised in the Qun, where love and sex were two different things. If Nym was interested in someone, he sure as hell wouldn’t stand in their way. But this was different. Iron Bull was worried for a different reason. He could see the man was only interested in the Inquisitor because of his status or appearance – perhaps both. He had the eyes of a predator, rather than someone who wanted to cherish the person he’s with. Bull recognized that look, along with men like him – he wasn’t interested in Nymrodel as a person, but only as an object of his desires. Bedding the pretty elf who was also the most important person in the Inquisition would surely be something to brag about later to his buddies in the barracks.

If Lavellan was aware of that and didn’t mind, that was one thing – but this certainly didn’t look like such a situation. To begin with, the elf was too drunk to even make a rational decision. Any person could’ve seen that, and any decent man wouldn’t use that opportunity to pounce on him while he’s like this. This human didn’t seem to care. In fact, from the amount of additional drinks he was buying Nym, it was evident the man was taking advantage of the alcohol.

However, Bull’s trained eye noticed that although the elf wasn’t really keen on the man, he wasn’t entirely disgusted by his advances either. Perhaps he was more interested in sex with men than Bull originally thought, or was at least curious about it. Of course he already noticed Nymrodel’s bashful glances towards him, but most people were curious about the Iron Bull – with his size, who wouldn’t be.

Finally, he decided he had enough of the show before him. If this fool wanted to chase after Lavellan he can try another day, because he certainly wasn’t getting any tonight. Not with Nym in a state he was in. Bull slowly rose from his chair, the table he leaned on creaking under his weight.

~…..~

Nym didn’t know what to make of Thommas’s unspoken proposal. He wasn’t outraged by it, but felt a bit uncomfortable since the man was being so straightforward. It was obvious he wanted to sleep with him, even though they just met. Nymrodel couldn’t even imagine sleeping with someone if he didn’t have feelings for them first – or at least that’s how he used to think. Dalish clans had more traditional views on bonding, and never had the opportunity or numbers for it, anyway. It was hard to sleep around the clan when there was only one or two dozen elves close in age, and majority of them were usually related. Nym wasn’t one to be interested in casual sex anyway, so he didn’t mind. Now, he was revisiting that fact. After all, Bull had no problem sleeping with various people and having one-night stands. And what he heard from Dorian, that wasn’t uncommon at all in largely populated shemlen areas. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea.

His edgy nerves played with him, making his throat feel dry, so he took another big swig of his drink – mostly for courage. All of a sudden, a brush against his cheek pulled him out of his thoughtful daze. The unexpected touch made him flinch, before he turned rigid and stared at the man in front of him. Thommas was tracing the vallaslin on his cheekbone with the tip of his finger. All of his touches were intimate, but feather-light, as if he was worried the elf would run away if he pressed too hard. And perhaps Nym really would.

“I always wondered why Dalish wore these. Would you tell me?” Was he truly interested or simply trying to get Nym to open up to him? Lavellan couldn’t tell.

He opened his mouth to answer, but the voice that came out wasn’t his. “They serve to honor the Elven Gods,” a gruff voice sounded from behind Nymrodel, replying in his stead. Nym’s shoulders stiffened by the recognition. He didn’t have to turn to know who was currently casting this huge shadow over him. “Right?” Bull asked, and as Nym finally dared to turn, he could see the Tal-Vashoth smirking. He only acknowledged the elf for a moment, before his good eye pinned down the human on the other side.

Nym cleared his throat, sobering up a little as he felt he was just splashed with a bucket of cold water. “Um...Thommas, this is the Iron Bull. He is one of my closest fri- colleagues,” he wasn’t even sure how to introduce him. _*And occasionally the man I fantasize about bending me over my desk and having his way with me.*_ Luckily, he wasn’t so drunk as to blurt that out…yet.   

The human cleared his throat, composing himself after his initial fright. “How do you do…I’m Thommas Grimoaire of Nevarra.” He shifted in his seat anxiously. Since Nym had his back to the large man, he couldn’t see Iron Bull’s intense stare he was giving the Nevarran. Damn, the man wasn’t even blinking.

“So, wanna have another drink? Maybe we can get Thommas here to try and win a drinking contest against me. We have a betting pool here at the tavern; whoever manages to best me, wins it all. Nobody did yet,” he chuckled.

“It’s true,” Cabot joined in. “The gold keeps piling up cause nobody’s been able to win yet. We’re up to 300 Royals already.”

Thommas laughed nervously. “I don’t think I have the ability to do that, sorry.” His gaze escaped everywhere around the room, as long as he didn’t need to keep eye contact with the Qunari…or Tal-Vashoth, or whatever this giant battering-ram was. He gulped when he noticed Bull wouldn’t stop staring at him.

“You sure? Cause it seems to me you’ve been going at it a lot,” Bull gestured at the empty bottle sitting on the bar, right next to the other one they were just about to finish, while he gave him a perceptive look despite his feigned naiveté. The smile stayed etched on his lips, but his icy gaze clearly stated; ‘ _I know exactly what you’re trying to do.’_

Nymrodel, still oblivious to the whole situation since he had his back to Bull, finished another glass of his malt before he snorted in response, “Come on, Bull. There’s nooo way anyone can do that.” His stare fell onto his glowing Anchor, “Unless I can suck all the booze into the Fade with my mark….would that count?” He tilted his head upwards and stared at the ceiling in wonder. Yep, he was definitely plastered.

Still chuckling, Bull put a hand on his slender shoulder, “I think you sucked in enough booze for one night, Boss.” The gesture was one final indication that Bull had no intention of letting Nym go anywhere with the other man.

Thommas cleared his throat and slowly stood up from his seat, as if he was afraid to make any sudden moves in case it would rile up the giant in front of him. “W-well, I think I should call it a night. I have drank too much already.” Eyeing Lavellan one last time to weigh if he was worth the trouble with the Qunari, he decided against it and gave him a polite bow instead, “Inquisitor.” He also nodded to Bull out of curtesy, but kept eye contact to a minimum.

Nym blinked in confusion as he watched the man scurry away. Just a few moments ago he couldn’t get his hands off Nym, yet now he was exiting the tavern in a polite rush. He wasn’t sorry to see him go, though. In fact, he was rather relieved, since the decision from earlier was made _for_ him. He doubted he would be able to go through with it anyway, no matter how intoxicated he was.

“Well that was weird,” he muttered, before turning back towards the barkeep, “Guess I’ll just have another one-,”

“I’m cutting you off,” Cabot’s answer was as fast as lightning, and he wasn’t talking about the conversation.

“Why?!” The elf whined, but knew the stubborn dwarf wouldn’t change his mind on the matter. He never did.

Iron Bull laughed at the pout the Inquisitor was sporting. “Come on, let’s get you to your quarters.” He urged the drunken elf up from the tall stool, helping him off it so he wouldn’t fall on his face.

~…..~

“Thiss ‘s the secon’ time you’re bringing me to bed,” Nym chuckled, staggering as they walked across the courtyard. Not only was he drunk, but also started feeling sleepy somewhere along the way, and it affected both his speech and balance.

It was the dead of night already, with no soul in sight. Which was a good thing considering nobody should see the Inquisitor _this_ drunk.

“I think that says something about your drinking habits, Boss,” the Tal-Vashoth teased with a smile. Nym mumbled a retort, something he couldn’t quite make out.

The elf suddenly stopped at looked up at Bull’s back. “Bull,” he called out. The other turned with an interested frown. “About what happened today…with Tal-Vsh…Vaash..Vash-oth!” Bull huffed, commending himself for his patience at the moment. But Nym’s next words surprised him nonetheless. “You’ll be ok, ‘cause you’re not alone. You have the Chargers, you have the Inquisition…an’ you have me.” He slurred his words terribly, but he got his point across, judging by the deeply moved expression on Bull’s stunned features.

“Yeah…Thanks, Boss,” he whispered, feeling taken aback by how much Nymrodel cared for him and his well-being. And it wasn’t because he was a useful asset to the Inquisition, like it had been with the Ben-Hassrath. Perhaps in the beginning, but not anymore. It was because this young elf genuinely cared for _him_ as a person…for him, and many others, Bull reminded himself.  

As he walked in an anything but a straight line, the usually graceful rogue wasn’t able to watch his step. He tripped over his own feet and went flying towards the ground. Before his face managed to end up in dirt or worse, a large hand draped over his chest stopped him. Nym blinked in shock before his face contorted in laughter, “Pffft! Hahahaha!”

Bull straightened him back to his feet and sighed at the laughing elf. “You’re gonna kill yourself, Boss,” he murmured, before an idea hit him. Scanning around the area and making sure there was nobody to see, he grabbed the elf by the waist. Before the other had time to wriggle out from his grip, he tossed Nym over his shoulder with ease. “There we go.” They were lucky it was so late at night and nobody was there to witness this; he knew it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to manhandle the Inquisitor. For an ‘ox-man,’ how other races often called his people, to toss around _the Herald of Andraste_ would be scandalous at best and possibly a punishable sacrilege even.    

Lavellan didn’t quite enjoy the sudden change, however. He gasped and panicked, then started to trash around on Bull’s wide shoulder. He tripped over his own words as he protested, “Hey, I can wfalk jusst fine. Put m’ down!”

All that struggling almost made the elf slip out of Bull’s grip and he nearly dropped him. With a growl, Bull slapped Nym’s ass to calm him down – only once, but sharp enough for the other to feel it. “Oy, stop squirming or I’ll drop you!”

Lavellan flinched, startled by the sudden stinging sensation. But what truly surprised him was that rather than anger or pain, he realized he felt… _excited_ by it. He instantly calmed down, almost sobering up completely from the shock. He dared not move – keeping perfectly still, like one of those gilded statues that decorated the main hall. He was equally surprised by his realization as he was by Bull’s action. Suddenly, he felt too aware of Bull’s hands on his legs as the Tal-Vashoth carried him. One was holding him just above the knees, while the other hand rested on his thigh. He could feel Bull’s fingers digging into his inner thigh, holding him tight, and the feeling made him involuntarily squirm. He tried to calm his high-strung nerves and think of _anything_ else, while he rocked on Bull’s shoulder with each step. Unfortunately, it was an impossible task at that point. The more he tried not to think about Bull’s hard body under him, the more he became tortuously conscious of it.  

His attitude didn’t go unnoticed by the trained Ben-Hassrath. He heard Nym’s sharp gasp and felt the way he instantly froze when Bull spanked his ass. More than a simple start, Nym liked it, the man could tell. And Bull liked how he became so obedient right afterwards.

They walked in silence for a while – or Bull did the walking while Nym let himself be carried like a sack of potatoes – before the Tal-Vashoth decided to break it. “You know, that guy wouldn’t be good for you. All he was interested in was his own pleasure, his own desires. He’d just take from you and not give anything back.”

Nym’s whole body went rigid. * _He knows what that soldier was after,*_ the elf realized in dread. For a second he considered lying or playing oblivious, but knew Bull would see right through that. There was no point in pretending. “You noticed…,” his voice was soft, ashamed even though he didn’t do anything wrong.

The other snorted, “It was hard not to. He was all over you…not a very subtle guy, was he?” He wanted to shrug, then remembered he was carrying Nym on one of his shoulders. The little elf was so light, Bull could easily forget he was on there. “I’m just sayin’; if that’s your thing, that’s your business, and there’s nothing wrong with it. But if not, you gotta be more careful. Even around other men.”

“My thing?” Nym frowned in confusion. He was getting the sense that Bull had some kind of wrong idea about him.

“Casual sex,” the former Qunari shed light on what he was referring to. “Hey, I’ve done it too…granted not with any guys from Skyhold, but that’s cause most men here aren’t really my thing so-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Nym cut him off, completely flushed to the tips of his ears. “It’s not like that! I-I’ve never,” he was stuttering now, trying to get a whole stream of words out in a hurry. His mind was still too hazy for such a task. “I’ve never been…with a man before.” _*Nor had sex with a woman, for that matter,*_ his mind added. “I was just…” At that point, his cheeks were practically burning from embarrassment that spread heat through his body. Luckily, they were already at the throne hall. Just a few more steps and he will be able to run away from this awkward conversation.

“Oh…so you were just curious?” Bull raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

Ironically, Nym was suddenly glad they didn’t have this conversation face-to-face. He was now grateful for being draped over Bull’s shoulder. His back stiffened at the question, but he stayed silent. How was he supposed to answer? He didn’t even know what to think himself, or how to explain his feelings. He couldn’t very well say _“I wanted to see if I’m interested in sex with men in general or is it just you.”_ …right?

They arrived in front of the door at Nym’s quarters and the Tal-Vashoth finally put him back on his feet. Feeling lightheaded, he had to steady himself on Bull’s bicep as his knees wobbled beneath him for a moment.

Iron Bull leaned closer to the elf, gazing down at the glazed look in his bright-blue eyes, searching for something in them. Seeing he wasn’t going to get an answer, he continued, his tone lower than before, “If you’re going to experience your first time with a man, you might as well choose the best – so you get _exactly_ what you need,” he murmured awfully close to Lavellan’s cheek, a ghost of his breath brushing over Nym’s cool skin.

The elf felt his lips tremble as he willed himself to speak, his retort rushing out in a breathless whisper, “And you can give me what I need?” It was meant to be more of a quip, like he did with the human earlier, but it came out sounding hopeful…almost expectant.

Bull’s voice stayed even and soft, a pleasurable rumble in his ear, “That’s right. I can make sure you are… _thoroughly_ satisfied.”

Nym shuddered, suddenly feeling the heat rise inside of him. It wasn’t only in his cheeks anymore. He swallowed hard, his throat feeling dry despite all the liquor he’s had. That’s when he remembered they were all alone in the dark throne room – with no one to overhear or witness their little dance. Perhaps now was his best chance. To pull Bull into him. To invite him inside his quarters to continue whatever this was.

Then, all too soon, Bull pulled away, leaving him nothing but thoroughly disappointed. The moment was broken, along with Nymrodel’s chance to act. The man smirked down at him, “But what you need now, Boss, is to get some serious shuteye. See you tomorrow.” He gave him one last glance as he turned to leave, and Nym could swear there was a mischievous glint in his eye. He was doing this on purpose. Was he even aware what kind of effect he had on Nym!?

“Don’t forget what we’ve talked about when you wake up tomorrow,” the Tal-Vashoth called out over his shoulder, a remnant of a chuckle left in his voice.

_*Cruel bastard!*_ Nym screamed in his mind, barely able to contain himself not to shout it out loud instead. He found the doorknob and twisted it, still staring at Iron Bull’s broad, muscular back while the other strolled out of the throne room. He almost fell on his ass when he stumbled backwards into his room.

~…..~

Iron Bull was casually walking back to the tavern where he chose a regular room for himself. He enjoyed the dark silence around him, with no people to give him weary looks as they passed. Only at this late hour of the night could one experience such a deserted Skyhold. The ambience did well for his thoughts, especially with everything he had to ponder on.

His thoughts kept circling back to Nymrodel. He was like no person Bull has ever met – in South _or_ North. He was strong and brave, never wavering in the face of danger. He took the burden of leadership upon himself, even though he didn’t want it or ask for it. He didn’t shy away from responsibilities, not matter how dire they were. And yet through it all, he never lost himself – never forgot who he was. Bull didn’t know him before the Inquisition, but in all the time he’d known him since, the elf always stayed true to himself, keeping both feet firmly on the ground. He never stopped caring about the people; be it his troops or civilians in foreign lands. Even through all the horrible things that happened, Nym never lost his kindness. It was that spirit that Iron Bull respected the most.

However, he could also see the heavy burden those small shoulders had to carry. He could see the pain and doubt in Nym’s eyes, especially when it was pointed towards himself. He had to pretend to know how to deal with _anything_ as the Inquisitor, but in truth lacked confidence in himself. Sometimes those shoulders were hunched low with all the pressure, and when Bull watched him from behind, the young elf appeared almost broken. He knew Nym would never ask for help outright. He already realized the man mostly kept his burdens to himself, rarely opening up to others, at least not entirely and without being probed first. Instead, he would often try to push others away or shut them out when he was troubled by something. Bull didn’t know why, but it was clear Nym wasn’t even aware he was doing it. Bull wanted to fix that – find a way to help him and ease his load.

He knew Lavellan needed an outlet. He speaks his mind in the War Room, and is always the one to make the final decision whether with the Council or on the field. But being a leader isn’t just about making the right decisions. Whenever there is unrest among his allies, he is the one who needs to deal with it. He is always there to listen when others need to vent or tell him their worries or anything else on their minds. But he doesn’t have the same freedom. He cannot always speak his mind or vent to them, because he has to appear strong and confident. That’s why all those bottled up emotions, worries, or simple disgruntlement are left buried deep within him. All that stress is weighing down on him even if the Inquisitor hasn’t noticed it yet. It needed to be taken care of. _Nymrodel_ needed to be taken care of. And the Iron Bull had just the thing in mind. 

* * *

 

Glossary:

_Andaran atish’an_ \- Enter this place in peace. (A formal elven greeting)

_En'an'sal'en_ – Blessings (A formal elvish greeting)

_Falon_ \- friend

_Ir abelas_ – I’m sorry.

Dirtha'va'ren'vi'dirth – an elven dialect used by the Dalish clans in the Dales.

_Lethallan/Lethallin_ – Blood-kin

_Ma nuvenin, da’len_ – As you say, child.

_Elgar'arla_ – Spirit-trap; a binding circle to hold a spirit or demon.

_Ma harel, da’len_ \- You lie, child.

_Hahren_ \- Elder

_Harellan_ \-   Trickster. (Used by the Dalish to mean "traitor to one's kin")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Nym is slowly getting proficient in using the Anchor's new ability, Mihris joined the Inquisition (a bit going off-cannon there), Bull is officially Tal-Va-fucking-shoth and even more officially ready to take care of our Inquisitor. (With that ending, I think we all know where this is going. hehe. Soon.)   
> I hope you liked this chapter. I proof-read it two times just in case so I really read my fill of it. ^^' 
> 
> As always, thank you all very much for reading and sending kudos - it means a lot to me that you guys like my story and continue to follow it.   
> I hope you all have a great day and see ya soon!


	22. Riding the Bull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nymrodel's first time with the Iron Bull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: NSFW content inside! This will be the first sex scene with the Iron Bull so there is a lot of smut in this chapter! If you don’t like graphic sexual content, skip this chapter or scroll down to the ending where they converse afterwards! Also, this is the first time ever that I’m writing a sex scene so sorry if it’s not that great.

 

Nymrodel couldn’t even explain how he was feeling at the moment. He was confused, stunned, excited, frightened and a lot more as he stood in his quarters, with Bull blocking him against the wall and towering over him.

His day started like any other. He came back from his trip to Val Royeaux with Josephine, where they learned there was a guild of Orlesian assassins after her. He discussed the details for storming Adamant Fortress with Cullen, Hawke and Stroud. Then went over the reports with Leliana about her agents working on various missions across Thedas.

The sun was already low on the horizon in the late afternoon, when he decided to finish his paperwork back in his quarters and rest for a while. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts, so the last thing he expected was for the complete opposite to happen. He certainly didn’t count on a large Tal-Vashoth waiting for him on his bed. The Inquisitor was so startled, he jumped and dropped all of his papers on the floor, and they scattered across the red carpet.

The Iron Bull had stalked closer to him, and Nymrodel found he couldn’t move from his spot. Partly because of his surprise that Bull was in his quarters, but even more so because of his bewilderment at what the man was saying.

“So listen. I’ve got the hints. I get what you’re saying. You want to ride the Bull. Can’t say I blame you. But I’m not sure you know what you’re asking. Not sure if you’re ready for it,” he had said, his good eye observing the elf in front of him.

And that’s how they found themselves in such a strange position. Nym was still gaping, forgetting that his jaw was slack and eyes wide.  

He wasn’t yet completely positive that this was real, and not just one of his dreams that were always so vivid. But the hot breath tickling his hair and the awaiting look in Bull’s eye told him otherwise.

Finally remembering to close his mouth, he did so slowly, then swallowed hard. * _Ride the Bull,*_ he repeated in his mind. What was he supposed to say to that? His first reflex was to deny everything; his feelings, his wants…pretend that it isn’t so. But Bull didn’t really ask, he stated about Nym’s desire for him. That meant the man already knew everything.

“How did you-,” he started to ask, wanting to know how Bull realized, but stopped when he saw him smirk.

“Ben-Hassrath spy, remember? Well, former spy now…I’ve seen how you look at me, so there’s no point denying it. Just thought it’d be easier to lay it all out in the open. Simpler that way,” Bull shrugged.

Lavellan realized this was his chance. Perhaps the only one. If he ever planned to tell Bull how he honestly felt, now was the time. He licked his dry lips as he looked up at the taller man, trying to appear confident. “Y-you’re right,” despite himself, his voice came out stuttering. Clutching his fists, he tried again, “I…want you.” He did his best to ignore the heat in his cheeks. Even his ears burned hot with embarrassment. His heart was racing while he stood awaiting Bull’s reply.

“See, you say that, but…you _really_ don’t know what that means,” Bull countered.

Some of Nym’s bashfulness was replaced by annoyance now, and he frowned. Bull was the one who came to _him_ , yet it sounded like he was trying to discourage him. But that only brought an opposite effect in the elf, making him feel he needed to prove something. He wanted to show the Tal-Vashoth that he was serious. “So why don’t you show me?” He gave Bull a challenging stare.

It was as if Bull was waiting for that response. In one surprisingly quick move he stepped forward, taking both of Nym’s wrists in his large hand. He pushed the little elf against the wall, pinning his hands above his head.

Nym gasped, his eyes wide as he stared up at Bull. He had to battle his ‘fight or flight’ instinct and stop his body from reflexively trying to escape Bull’s hold. Wriggling only proved dangerous when he felt Bull’s large thigh between his legs, gently pushing against his groin. His body trembled as something stronger than his fear overtook his body…something carnal. He was getting excited, despite being held down – or perhaps, precisely because of it.

Iron Bull dipped his head low, his eye trained on the elf, but his gaze softened. His lips were so close to Nym’s that the elf had to struggle not to close that small distance between them. He had to hold back as he felt Bull’s hot breath on him. “Last chance,” the ex-Qunari murmured in a strangely soft tone.

The last thing he wanted was for Bull to leave. Not when he was so close to finally getting what he desired all this time. Yet the other was still frustratingly holding back – giving Nymrodel chance after chance to pull out.

Looking up at the man pleadingly, his voice was breathless as he spoke. “Don’t go…please. I want you to stay,” he whispered.

Never before did he see the Iron Bull make such a gentle expression as he did in that moment. His gaze softened, and he smiled at the elf. Then he sneaked his other arm around Nym’s waist and lifted him up, crashing his lips to Lavellan’s.

Nymrodel gasped when they’re mouths finally connected. The kiss wasn’t soft or gentle, but passionate and it made his head spin. He could feel Bull’s rougher lips moving against his, and he desperately kissed back as if starving for contact. After all those months pining over the larger man, perhaps he truly was.   

Bull pressed his thigh harder against Nym’s groin, making the smaller man tremble and gasp. Using that moment, he slipped his tongue in his mouth, deepening the kiss.

The elf made a soft moan in the back of his throat as he felt Bull’s tongue rub his. What started as a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach now intensified, until it became a burning need. He was breathless, lacking oxygen and dizzy, but he kissed back with fervor nonetheless.

Wincing as Bull pulled back from the bruising kiss, he trembled when he saw the dark look in the man’s stormy eye. It was glazed with lust, and he wondered if his own expression matched Bull’s. With a low growl, Iron Bull finally let go of his wrists, only to grab his ass and lift him up.

He held onto Bull’s neck while the other carried him over to the bed and dropped him there, letting him fall on his back with a soft thump and a grunt. He wanted to complain at the rough treatment, but as he looked up at the Tal-Vashoth, his words caught in his throat. The sight of the large man towering over him, staring down at him with a heated look in his eye – it reminded him so much of his fantasies, he couldn’t speak. Instead, his body shuddered, instantly responding even without his approval.

Iron Bull put a knee on the bed and it creaked under his weight, but the sturdy wooden frame held out. He leaned over the smaller man, one hand pushing him back down on the soft mattress. Lowering his head, he licked the inner shell of Nym’s ear, making a soft gasp escape the elf. He proceeded to nibble on the outer part, all the way to the pointy tip, where he grazed his teeth across the sensitive flesh. Lavellan shivered, letting out a small moan.

“The ears are really a sensitive spot for elves, aren’t they,” he murmured in a low breath, teasing Lavellan’s ear.

The elf trembled from the feelings on his sensitive flesh. He could hear the lewd, wet sounds, while feeling Bull’s tongue move attentively against his skin. Shuddering again, small moans escaped him, his mind clouding in a haze. “Don’t tease me!” He managed to let out his voice though it sounded more like a squeak, as he weakly pushed against Bull’s strong arms. The elven ears were much more sensitive than of other races, and Bull was teasing him on purpose. He could feel the strain in his pants, wanting to be free of them.

In his daze, he didn’t realize the man’s quick fingers were already unbuttoning his shirt. Only when the chilled air hit his flushed chest did he notice. He was panting, still trying to catch his breath when Bull murmured in his ear, “I can promise you one thing; sex with me is like nothing you ever experienced.”

He blushed, suddenly feeling shy. _*Should I tell him? I should tell him…He deserves to know.*_ A bit unsure, he admitted, “Um…I’ve never experienced _any_ sex, though.” He already mentioned to Bull that he never slept with a man before, but the truth was; he never slept with anyone.

Bull pulled back a little, blinking in surprise. “You’re a virgin?”

The young elf nodded, then pressed his lips together in worry. “Is that a bad thing?” _He’s not going to leave, is he?_

The Tal-Vashoth only chuckled at Lavellan’s anxious expression. “Not at all. Just surprised you picked _me_ , the biggest guy in the Inquisition, for your first time.”

He pursed his lips, then gave Bull a mischievous smirk. “You’re the one who said if I go down this road, it should be with the best.”

The other snickered in amusement that the elf remembered that. “That I did,” he said in a hoarse voice, breathing a chuckle. He pressed his lips to Nym’s again, his skillful hands taking off the elf’s shirt.

The younger man let out a small moan when he felt those big, calloused hands over his bare skin. Bull’s tongue played with his, sliding over the roof of his mouth and back teeth. Nym’s cock twitched at the feeling, the constrains of his pants getting tighter until he winced. He realized he liked kissing Bull, and the other really didn’t hold back, leaving him breathless and wanting more.  

The former Qunari moved to his neck, trailing his tongue along the artery there, then nibbling his way down against the pale flesh. Tipping his head backwards, Nym closed his eyes in enjoyment and relaxed. Until a light bite on his neck drew a sharp gasp out of him, and his eyes shot open. He trust his hips upwards into Bull’s at the feeling, and the Tal-Vashoth responded by pressing down.

As their groins rubbed against each other, Nym let out another moan, louder this time. He felt a hardness pressed again his own, and a surprised “Oh,” escaped him.

Bull pulled back from his neck and smirked in amusement at the sound, “What’s with that shocked expression?”

The elf blushed slightly, averting his gaze from the man. “It’s just…all this time you were always sleeping with women, so I thought maybe being with me wouldn’t be…,” he trailed off, unsure how to finish. How could he tell him he was surprised that Bull got hard for him? He bit his lip as those words really sunk in; _Bull got hard for him_. It made him feel proud.

A hard roll of Bull’s hips against his brought him back to reality, and Nym let out a startled moan. His body shuddered at the contact. The ex-Qunari chuckled, but it sounded breathless, his voice husky with arousal. “You think I would do this if I didn’t feel anything from it. Trust me, I’m juuust fine.” As he spoke, he rolled his hips against Nym’s in a frustratingly slow motion, making the elf mewl and trust upwards, needing more contact. His hands grabbed Bull’s muscular biceps, clinging to his tattooed arms, as he arched his hips in a wordless plea for more.

As their kissing and grinding continued, his trembling hands moved from Bull’s arms to the harness on his chest, fidgeting with the straps. Bull let out a pleased rumble as he moved one hand to Nym’s pants and started unfastening the strings in lazy, teasing slowness. He kissed down the elf’s collarbone, sucking on it and drawing out more whimpers, before dipping even lower.

Nym gasped and arched his back when a slick tongue leisurely licked over his nipple, before Bull lightly bit down. “Hn!” The elf shuddered at the feeling, then moaned when Bull sucked his left nipple. His fingers stopped on the last strap of the harness, as he was momentarily too distracted to operate. He willed his fingers to work as Bull kissed over to his other nipple, sucking hard enough to make him yelp.

“Ah!” Nym exclaimed in a high voice he never made before and quickly covered his mouth in shock.

Bull flicked his tongue over the nipple playfully, before pulling back and slowly taking off Nym’s tight pants, along with his smallclothes. The elf was left bare in front of him, shivering at the sudden chill.

Lying on the bed below the other, Nym found himself completely naked in front of the Iron Bull. He could feel Bull’s eye on his stark body and his heart beat deafeningly loud in his ears. Bull’s hungry gaze was sizing him up and down, devouring him. Suddenly, he felt awfully abashed by being stared at like this. He looked away shyly, closing his legs and covering his lower regions with his hands.

“No. Don’t hide.” Bull’s voice wasn’t stern, but it was still commanding. He grabbed Nym’s wrists and pinned them above his head on the bed. His two hands were easily constrained by the one large one. He used the other to grab Nym’s thigh and spread his legs, completely opening the naked elf for view. “Let me see all of you,” he demanded in a low voice.

He shuddered as he saw Bull’s piercing gaze travel all across his body. He could feel that burning gaze on him, as if his whole body was being caressed. It made him feel a different kind of heat rise inside him, one that wasn’t from shame. It was getting him excited; being pinned down and stared at by the large Tal-Vashoth. He was completely exposed and trapped, with nowhere to run or hide, yet he felt aroused by it instead of mortified. His cock twitched in response to his thoughts. Impatient to see what the man will do to him next, his big timid eyes looked up at Bull, awaiting.

Bull moved his hand from Nym’s thigh and gently placed it on his throat. He trailed his fingers down his neck, then collarbone and chest, pinching one nipple teasingly. Nym sucked in his breath in surprise, his chest arching off the bed in want. He twisted in Bull’s grip reflexively as the other stayed on his nipple, massaging it with his thumb.

“You’re really sensitive,” the man chuckled softly. His fingers trailed further down, over Nym’s stomach and rubbing his hip before sliding to the inner part of his milky white thigh. The elf shuddered at the feathery-light contact, more heat pooling to his manhood. Everywhere Bull touched felt blazingly hot.

The Tal-Vashoth gazed down at the young elf – swollen lips parted and panting, blue eyes glazed over with arousal. A slight blush on his cheeks. “You make a beautiful sight, you know that,” he murmured huskily.

The question didn’t really require an answer and Nym was in no state of mind to give him one. Especially since a large hand coiled around his weeping cock in the next moment. “Ah!” He gasped, arching his hips as Bull begun a slow but firm pace with his hand. His hand was so large, it easily enveloped the whole member in it, and the man switched between just massaging it and stroking. Nymrodel let out a long moan that turned into a whine, unwittingly opening his legs further apart.

He struggled against the hand holding his arms pinned as the pace gradually became faster and more demanding. Nobody ever touched him like this, especially there. It was the first time someone else’s hand was stroking him and he couldn’t help but moan at the feeling. “A-ah!” He panted as hot pressure pooled into his abdomen.

 As the strokes became firmer, Nym squirmed more, trusting his hips upward into that large hand. It left no place untouched as Bull worked him. He was becoming impatient, his muscles tensing as his whole body yearned for release.

“Ah! Aahn. Bull,” he couldn’t control his moans and gasps anymore as he felt a wave of pleasure coming to wash over him. His own voice sounded embarrassingly loud in his ears, but he couldn’t stop himself. He was so close. Just a bit more. And then in the next instant, the sensations were gone along with Bull’s hand. “Hah?!”

The former Qunari retracted his hand, leaving Nym a shivering and confused mess before he could reach his orgasm. He was panting, blinking in confusion as he looked down at his manhood. It was rock hard, completely wet form precum. His hips were shaking, his body still demanding release. “No! Don’t stop!” He couldn’t help but gaze at Bull with pleading eyes, full abandon in his voice.

He only got a satisfied smirk in return. “You didn’t think it would be _that_ easy, did you?” Nym didn’t know what he meant. Baffled, he stared blankly at the Tal-Vashoth. “It’s too soon for you to finish. We are only getting started,” the bigger man promised in a deep, coarse tone.

 Lavellan shuddered, not so much from Bull’s words, but from the heated look he was giving him. It was a look full of promises of things to come. He had no idea if he’d like them all, but he knew one thing; he didn’t want Bull to end it. A part of him was still dumbfounded that he was letting Iron Bull do all of this to him. As the Inquisitor, allowing someone so much control over him should be unheard of. Yet the more he thought about how illicit this was, the more he wanted it to continue. He wanted to let go. To be held down by the man he desired. He wanted to be screwed right into this mattress. It made him both appalled and enticed by his wanton mind.

Once again, the Tal-Vashoth started tracing his body with his hand, using the other one to hold Nym’s wrists pinned above his head. “You said you were a virgin. Does that mean nobody ever touched you like this before?”

Lavellan felt embarrassed, looking away even as he shook his head, “Not like this.” A few stolen kisses from the girls in his Clan could not compare to what Iron Bull was doing to him. Nobody ever did this to him. However, his friends often talked about their sexual experiences as if it was something to boast about, so it’s not like he was completely unknowledgeable about it.

“Hmm…” Bull’s fingers went to Nym’s lips, tracing his thumb over the elf’s lower lip. “Then what about a kiss?” He pushed his lips apart and rubbed his thumb against the elf’s tongue. Nymrodel obediently opened his mouth, feeling Bull’s fingers tease his tongue and stroke it. He reflexively sucked on them, lightly biting down with his sharper canines. “Did you ever kiss before me?” Nym couldn’t respond verbally, so he simply nodded.

The larger man hummed again, a thoughtful expression crossing his features, but the elf couldn’t guess what the other was thinking. Then Bull’s fingers left his mouth and grabbed his chin instead, tilting his head up, as he crashed their lips together in a hungry kiss once more.

Nym whimpered when he felt Bull’s tongue enter his mouth, exploring every nook and cranny before it started stroking and playing with his own. To him, it felt like the kiss lasted for ages, but he didn’t want to end it even as he started feeling dizzy from lack of oxygen. The way Bull stroked and sucked his tongue felt amazing.

He moved down Nym’s body, nibbling his nipples before going lower. He dipped his tongue into the elf’s navel, swirling it inside.

The rogue whimpered, shuddering at the foreign feeling and Bull smirked against that trembling, taut body beneath him. Nym’s body was lithe, with wiry muscles and no extra fat; just like one would expect from an elven rogue. Even more interestingly, he was really sensitive all over. That fact only excited Iron Bull more: there was so much potential there. _*Oh, this will be fun,*_ the Tal-Vashoth thought.   

“Whoa!” Suddenly, Nym’s hands were released, but only for a second before he was swiftly turned around and his arms were bent behind his back. He became slightly alarmed by their new position, since he was now unable to move or see anything behind him. He strained his neck to look over his shoulder, but it was no use.

Then he heard a clinking sound behind him and a small feeling of panic started to rise within when he realized it was Bull’s belt. Was he going to enter him already? All of a sudden, this was moving too fast for him. He arched his back, cranking his neck back to try and see what the former Qunari was up to. “W-what are you doing?” Thinking about how big the man must be down there, he was starting to have doubts.

He felt the bed shift as additional weight was added. Bull was kneeling on the mattress, hovering above him. His one hand propped him up while the other still kept Nym’s wrists together behind his back.

Lavellan’s breath hitched when a hot huff tickled his sensitive ear. “Do you trust me?” Bull’s voice was barely above a whisper.

He stopped his struggling, mulling over the question. Yes. He truly did trust the man. “Yes,” he nodded.

“Then don’t worry. Relax. I promise I won’t hurt you,” Bull’s promise rang in Nym’s ears and it was enough to calm him down. His rigid muscles relaxed and he obediently laid back on his stomach, deciding to see this through, no matter what.

Keeping him on his stomach, Bull repositioned his wrists, pinning them above the elf’s head again, and tied them together with his belt. With a pull, he tightened the leather around them, holding his arms in place. Nym tried at the bindings; they were tight enough to restrain his hands, but not so much as to painfully bite into his skin and stop circulation.

The larger man breathed in Nym’s flushed ear with a husky voice, “We’re only getting started.” He nipped the tip teasingly before sitting back on his knees. He noticed Nymrodel’s scars on his back - the ones he saw before and knew the elf didn’t like to talk about. He leaned in and trailed feathery kisses along the right one, while gently trailing the other with his fingers. He could feel the change in texture compared to the rest of the soft skin. The elf shuddered at his ministration, fidgeting slightly. Bull moved on from his scars, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. Maybe one day he will feel ready to talk about them, but now wasn’t the time.

He lifted his hips so the elf could kneel with his ass in the air, and Nym instantly understood why Bull repositioned his wrists. It was much easier to hold himself up in that position, with his arms tied in front of him rather than his back. He blushed, a bit embarrassed that his behind was completely exposed to the other man, but he didn’t feel panic with his back turned to him anymore. He relaxed, although his body was still burning with unsatisfied arousal.

Gasping, he went rigid when he felt something wet against his entrance. He realized it was Bull’s tongue, circling around his hole. “Wait, that’s-Hya!” He started to protest, only to yelp as he got a light smack on his ass.

“Relax,” the warrior ordered, though his tone remained calm.

Bull licked again, taking his time to wet the outside ring of muscles and rimming the elf, before he opened his ass cheeks and dipped his tongue inside.

Nym squirmed from the strange, wet feeling. The slick appendage entered him, slowly working his hole open. He winced, desperate to get used to the feeling. His face burned with embarrassment, but soon another feeling started rising inside him. Little by little, he relaxed as he got used to the feeling of Bull’s tongue swirling inside him.

And when he started to thrust it in and out, working it deeper inside, Nym moaned at the sensation. His cock twitched again, as the flame of his arousal ignited even more.

Bull delved deeper inside, as far as he could reach with his tongue, before pulling it out.  He grabbed at Nym’s weeping erection, messaging it from behind. The elf let out a long moan, his legs trembling under him. His other hand went to Nym’s perineum, applying pressure to his prostate from the outside.

“Aahn!?” The elf’s head jerked back and his eyes opened wide at the unexpected pleasure. Bull’s finger continued to message the spot, making Nym tense up at the feeling. He clutched at the sheets, his voice rising in volume, as Bull continued to work him with both hands. He never knew that area could feel so good to the touch.

The warrior smirked at the little whines and moans that escaped the elf, watching his wet hole starting to spasm. Wanting to give him even more pleasure, he licked at his hole, dipping his tongue inside again.

“Haah!” Nym screamed at the sudden hot feeling, while his cock and prostate were still being massaged at the same time. He was getting dizzy, dripping with precum and rock-hard while his hips shook in pleasure. Bull’s tongue continued to swirl inside him, going even deeper and making him whimper. He pressed his knuckle against the perineum, using the bony part of his finger to knead it. A numbing pleasure coursed through the elf, rocking his very core, and he cried out loudly. Unable to keep still, he rocked his body back into Bull’s hands, moaning as the pleasurable pressure continued in his prostate.

Then the Tal-Vashoth pulled back, and he whimpered at the sudden loss of contact, completely in a daze. He didn’t even notice when Bull pulled out a vial from his pocket – he came prepared. The man poured it onto his fingers, wetting them, before he pressed one against Nymrodel’s entrance. The little elf tensed, but Bull gently stroked his thigh to calm his down. “Relax. It’ll be alright,” he murmured soothingly.

He pushed the slick finger inside and thanks to his ministrations earlier, Nym’s wet innards hardly made any resistance against it. The elf was already hard and hot by that point, and he gasped when Bull’s one thick finger entered him slowly. He shuddered at the strange feeling. It didn’t exactly hurt, since Bull already softened him with his tongue, but the intrusion still felt uncomfortable.

“This is the first time you have a finger inside, isn’t it,” Bull murmured softly, still working his way deeper, painfully slow. “How does it feel?”

Nym winced, “I-it’s strange…” He was flushed, feeling heated and sensitive. He tried to ignore the strange sensation, but he never felt anything like it. He gasped when Bull reached the final knuckle and the finger stopped, all the way inside him. The man just kept it there, unmoving, waiting for the elf to adjust to the foreign invading feeling.

He only had time to catch his breath before Bull started moving his finger again, still at a slow pace. He pulled it out half-way before lightly pushing back in, earning a wince from the elf.

“Does it hurt?”

Nym shook his head, his face buried in the sheets and trying to keep his voice down. He was gradually starting to get used to the unfamiliar sensation, as it invaded his innermost areas. It felt like Bull’s finger was poking around, searching for something. He felt the man’s other hand sneaking to the front, and the Tal-Vashoth rubbed the head of his member teasingly to relax him. “Nnn,” the elf whined, thrusting his hips into Bull’s hand. He wanted the man to touch him more - beneath where the sensitive bundle of nerves resided - but he just kept teasing the head.

“Well, you’re damn hard and wet, so I know you’re feelin’ it,” the Tal-Vashoth muttered as if speaking to himself rather than Nym.

“Bull…,” the small elf beneath him whimpered, but was cut off when an unfamiliar sensation suddenly hit him from the back. He gasped, feeling the pleasure travel from his ass up his spine and all the way back into his groin. “Ah!” His eyes widened at the sudden feeling, surprising even himself. What was that?

“Ah, so I found it. Just now…,” Bull trailed of and his finger plunged in deep, pushing into that spot again and grinding against it.

“A-aah?! What-ah!” Nym felt his hips jerk, then start shaking. He was moaning, but he couldn’t help it. Bull was rubbing something deep inside him, giving him a completely different feeling from before. It felt similar to when Bull was rubbing his perineum, but this was much more intense – the feeling was electrifying.

Bull’s finger picked up a pace a bit, thrusting into Nym and hitting that spot each time. “Feeling good, right? You’ve suddenly opened up more.” The man smirked, pleased to see the elf was enjoying himself.

Nym moaned again, still baffled by what was going on. Why was this suddenly feeling so different than before? He felt hotter, a jolting feeling coursing through his body with every thrust of Bull’s finger. He could feel the heat everywhere, as if his whole body was set ablaze. His ears, chest, groin, ass – everything was in heat, wanting to be touched more. The elf cried out, tears stinging the corner of his eyes as he felt a pressure starting to build up in his groin. _*What? How is this possible? He’s not even touching my penis, but it feels like I’ll come!*_

Then Bull pulled out his finger and all the sensations slowly disappeared, leaving Nym confused and aroused. “Ah! Why?” He tried to look at the Tal-Vashoth, straining to look over his shoulder. He could lay on his side to look back at Bull, but he knew the other would frown upon it, and somehow he wanted to stay obedient to him.

The other man just chuckled. “Seems you got used to it now, so let’s add another one.” He put on more salve to wet his two fingers, then gently rubbed Nym’s hole before slipping them inside.

Startled, Nymrodel’s breath hitched and he jerked his hips. He was being stretched out more than before, and he winced in pain. But once again, Bull worked him open in a lazy and gentle pace. It felt uncomfortable, but he was so worked up and aroused by now, he hardly noticed. Whining, he rocked his hips when Bull kept his pace excruciatingly slow.

The Tal-Vashoth chuckled, “You’re so impatient.” He pushed deeper, all the way in, earning a small cry from the elf. Grinding his two fingers inside, right against his spot, he watched as Nym’s little hole twitched and squeezed in response. He experimentally thrust in and out a few times in a slow pace, before gradually picking up speed. The elf let out a long moan as Bull started thrusting into that spot with a steady rhythm, a bit faster than before. It hurt a bit now, but the wanton pressure in his groin overpowered any pain. 

 “My two fingers should be about as thick as your dick, so you should be able to take this at least,” the giant teased, but Nym was barely paying attention to his words.

When the Iron Bull picked up his pace even more, his two fingers thrusting all the way inside and hitting Nym’s spot continuously, the elf lost what little sense he had left. He was slowly turning into a moaning, dripping mess, while his bound hands clawed at the sheaths above his head. He tipped his head back, unable to keep his forehead resting on the bed anymore. With every thrust of Bull’s fingers, his slender body was pushed forward, his chest rubbing against the bed as Bull kept his other hand pressing down on Nym’s back. All those sensations were going straight into his groin.

He wanted to come so badly, but he believed it would be impossible without stimulating his penis, yet Bull wouldn’t touch him there. It took him a while to register what Bull had said, but when it did, he shuddered. Even the dirty talk was pushing him towards his release.

But one thought clung to his consciousness; if this was what it felt like being fucked by a couple of fingers…how good would it feel having Bull’s cock inside him. His member hardened more from simply imagining it. His hole squeezed around Bull’s fingers. “P-please…,” he moaned, not even sure what he was begging for.

Bull leaned forward, somehow thrusting his fingers even deeper with this new pose. His pace was hard and fast now – just like his hips would be moving. He licked the nape of Nym’s neck and hummed in one reddened ear. “Hmmm? Please _what_?” He made sure to emphasize his question with a particularly deep thrust into Nym’s prostate.

The elf cried out, swaying his hips with Bull’s rhythm. He was desperate for release. He needed Bull to touch him more. He needed to come. “Come…I want to, ah! I _need_ …to come,” he could hardly speak between moans.        

With a low rumbling voice that made the elf shudder, Bull whispered in his sensitive ear, “Then come from your ass.”

“Eh?” The elf widened his eyes wet with unshed tears. “C-can’t! Impossible. I can’t just from that….front. Touch me.”

The other man hummed in thought. “Well, you are just a beginner so maybe it’s still impossible for you.” He heard the elf whine as if agreeing with him wordlessly. Bull licked his ear slowly, whispering in it, “We’ll have to train your body then, so that you can come only from behind.” The elf shivered as he teased his long ears. A sly grin appeared on his rugged features even though his voice remained soft and gentle. It never stopped sounding tender, even when he teased the elf with dirty talk. “But for now, if you beg me properly, I’ll let you come.”

_Beg?_ Nym gaped, but no words came out. Bull wanted to render him a shivering, pleading mess. A part of him resisted it. A part of him that was the Inquisitor warned him a leader shouldn’t beg. Shouldn’t show weakness. Then another well-aimed thrust of Bull’s fingers tossed that part out of the window. His lips quivered as he slowly opened his mouth, “P…Please,” it was barely audible.

The Tal-Vashoth hummed in question. “I can’t hear you.”

Nym winced, then tried louder, “Please… _please_ make me come.”

“How?” Bull’s question was instant, as if the entire conversation was already scripted in his mind.

The young male was panting, having a hard time forming constructive sentences. But the growing pressure in his loins was spurring him on. It was more than he could take already. Bull’s fingers never stopped, still fucking him hard. He felt so open, so wet, so hot. He couldn’t take it anymore. “My cock. Touch my cock, please. Touch me from both sides and make me come,” the elf cried out, his words spilling out in a heated frenzy.

“Good boy,” the large man growled.

Nym expected to feel Bull’s large hand wrap around his member and stroke him to completion, but that didn’t happen. Instead, the fingers pulled out, leaving the elf to gasp in confusion as he was rolled to his back. Before he had time to object, Bull thrust back his two fingers right at the same time as he swallowed Nym’s throbbing member into his mouth.

Feeling a sudden wet heat envelop him, Nym jerked his hips up and screamed. Arching his back, his legs spread wide open of their own accord as all sensations hit him at once. Bull sucked on his cock harder, still fingering his prostate, while he sneaked the other hand up his chest and pinched his nipple.

“Ahn, aaaaaah!” Unable to hold back anymore, with a cry, Nym came. All that pressure was released at once, tears streaming down his cheeks from the pleasure. Never in his life did he feel this good. His hips swayed and twitched in the aftermath, his whole body taut like a bowstring, before every muscle in his body went limp.

Bull gulped down the cum and stopped as he brought Nym to completion, towering over the young elf.

In a daze and completely lost in the pleasure, Lavellan’s unfocused eyes stared somewhere at the bed’s roof. He was panting hard, trying to regain his breath. All thoughts about being the Inquisitor, or holding back as to not show his weak or embarrassing sides, were completely gone from his mind. _Everything_ was completely gone, leaving his head blissfully empty. A large, gentle hand brought him back to reality.

“You ok, Nym?” Bull asked with a small smile.

_‘Nym_.’ He called him by his name, not ‘Boss’ as he usually does. Somehow, that made him happy. It made all of this feel real. He smiled and tiredly nodded up at the Tal-Vashoth, “I’m alright.” He was slowly getting his bearings back.

“Good,” the larger man leaned in to give him a kiss on the lips. “Then we can continue.”

Blushing, Nym could feel Bull’s hands gingerly trail down his body while his lips followed. He felt a small pang of lust as Bull gently bit and licked his nipple. “C-continue? But I…already came,” he stuttered, perplexed.

Bull’s chuckle made a low rumble that sent pleasing vibrations against Nym’s chest. He continued his ministrations, teasing and rubbing the elf’s nipples that were already overly sensitive from before. That pang of pleasure in Nym’s abdomen intensified as small sensations of pleasure mixed with light pain traveled from his chest to his member. It was already twitching, despite him coming so hard only moments ago. “See?” Bull trailed his hand down and massaged his scrotum, avoiding his hardening member on purpose. “You’re young, you recover quickly,” he grinned against his chest.

The young elf pursed his lips despite the pleasurable sensations. “You sound like an old man when you say that,” he complained, but it was starting to get hard to concentrate again. His breath was already speeding up, his voice coming out shaky.

Once again, Bull created an entertained, rumbling sound deep in his throat that sounded like distant thunder - he looked amused rather than offended. As he sat up, Nym found himself a bit disappointed by the abrupt lack of contact. The elf watched him curiously as Bull stood up from the bed and removed the last piece of clothing on him – his pants. As expected, he wasn’t wearing any underwear so Nym instantly got a full view of Bull’s hard manhood. The baggy pants hid what was inside efficiently, Nym couldn’t even have imagined. And he _did_ try to imagine it. Many times. 

 It was almost as long as Nym’s forearm and almost as thick as three of Bull’s fingers. The head wasn’t so intimidating, but the further down towards the base it went, the thicker it became. It was veiny and throbbing, smeared with precum from being unattended for so long.

Nym shivered as he stared at it, glued to the sight before him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his own voice screamed that it was impossible to fit that thing inside him. Imagining that thing could easily tear him apart, he couldn’t help feeling scared. And yet, there was a part of him that felt eager. A heat throbbing in his groin intensified and he felt himself harden into another erection. He gulped, unable to look away.

Bull smirked when he saw the elf staring so intently. He knelt back on the bed, towering over the elf. “Having second thoughts?” Without waiting for an answer, he took Nym’s hips and carefully rolled him back on his stomach. He pushed his large cock against Nym’s small ass, rubbing himself there. The pressure left Nym’s own member trapped between his body and the bed, but even that felt good.

The elf gasped, then froze as he felt Bull rub against him. The precum was smearing Nym’s already wet hole, making him shudder in anticipation. “Are you going to-,” he looked over his shoulder timidly.

Bull continued to rub himself on his ass, but he didn’t push in. He leaned forward and murmured in Nym’s ear, “Not yet. You’re not ready yet.”

Nym felt his fear subside and he relaxed again. Just when he thought things were moving too fast, Bull slowed them down again. He was still amazed how gentle and careful he was being with him – it seemed completely contradictory to Bull’s usual personality. The man was patient, never pushing him into anything he didn’t deem him ready for. A warm feeling spread through Nymrodel’s chest at that thought.

Stopping, Bull changed his position again as he moved to kneel beside him, giving the other a full view of his throbbing heat. The elf unconsciously licked his lips. He simply couldn’t stop staring. A hand on his chin broke his lusty thoughts as he was made to meet Bull’s eye.

“If you don’t want this, if you feel insecure about going all the way, tell me and I’ll stop immediately,” he said, becoming completely serious.

Nym blinked in wonder. _*Stop now? After we came this far?*_ He glanced back at Bull’s member then back at the Tal-Vashoth’s serious expression. A bead of sweat appeared on his brow. Would Bull really stop so easily for him? Yes, he probably would. But he realized he didn’t want to stop. Bull didn’t hurt him so far and he trusted the Tal-Vashoth. The man knew what he was doing and Lavellan understood he didn’t have to be afraid.

He drew closer and wrapped his bound hands around Bull’s member, feeling the hot, smooth skin beneath his fingers. He felt him tense in response, but the man only silently observed him. Nym gathered his courage and gave a small experimental lick to the head.

“Nym,” Bull murmured softly in question, placing his left mangled hand on Nym’s head. The elf’s hair was soft and silken, like halla fur.

Lavellan realized his partner was still waiting for an answer. A verbal one. He looked up at him, “I don’t want to stop.” It could’ve been his imagination, but he thought he saw Bull’s expression relax in relief.

Then the Tal-Vashoth smirked. “Since you’re already doing this…,” he trailed off and patted Nym’s head, his eye lowering to his own dick.

The elf blushed but returned to his ministrations. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he realized he didn’t actually know what he was doing. _*But we’re both men, so if I do what he did to me and what felt good for me, it should be fine,*_ he concluded. His hands wrapped around the thick rod while he held himself up on his forearms. His small tongue darted out and he experimentally licked the underside of Bull’s cock, trailing it to the tip and then licking the slit. He heard a low groan from above and glanced up, seeing Bull staring at him intently, his one grey eye dark and glazed over with lust. The sight stirred something deep inside Nymrodel and he felt a sense of pride for making Bull feel like that. _*So that felt good,*_ he noted, remembering the spot for future reference. He wanted to hear Bull’s pleasured noises even more. That thought spurred him on and he swallowed the head, sucking on it and teasing the slit with his tongue. Slowly and carefully, he went in deeper, trying not to gag. It was too long and thick to take in properly, and he worried his jaw would break if he tried. So instead, he tried his best to suck what he could, sometimes pulling back to lick all over and focus on the bundle of nerves right beneath the head. He used his hands to massage Bull’s balls and dick while he sucked, nipped and licked at the hot skin.

He could feel his own heat begging to be touched under his stomach, but with his bound wrists it was impossible. Besides, he doubted Bull would allow it. A delicious idea of him being punished for it by the Iron Bull crossed his mind and the thought made him moan in lust with Bull still in his mouth. The vibrations sent a pleasant sensation up Bull’s spine, making the large man growl in pleasure above him. The sound pierced Nym’s heart like a pang of delight, and he felt both happy and aroused because of it. Unconsciously, his hips started moving, rubbing himself against the bed.

As soon as Bull noticed it, he pulled the little elf away and clicked his tongue, “Tsk tsk tsk. Now, now, who told you you’re allowed to do that?”

Nymrodel looked up pleadingly, his eyes glazed over with lust. Panting hard, it took him a moment to notice Bull was using that clear liquid from the vial again to wet his fingers.

“Keep your hips up or I will punish you next time,” he growled in a warning.

The elf shuddered at the racy notion, but instantly raised his hips with a whine from the loss of contact. He simply couldn’t disobey Bull’s authoritative voice.

“You’re not done here yet,” Bull murmured and used one hand to open Nym’s mouth again, pushing himself back inside. The elf let out a muffled yelp, but despite Bull’s mean words he was careful not to actually hurt the elf. He went back to work, taking in as much as he could and licking the underside, when he noticed Bull’s wet fingers probing at his entrance. He let out a muffled cry of surprise when two fingers entered him at once.

“Mmmfhf!”

Bull started stretching him open, thrusting in to get him used to the feeling again and relax his muscles. It was starting to get hard to concentrate on sucking his dick. Nym tried his best to focus, letting out small muffled moans at the now-familiar sensation, when his eyes widened and he choked in surprise.

Bull slowed his pace, but every now and then stretched his fingers a little, slowly working Lavellan open.

“Ah,” Nym cried out, letting the hard rod fall out of his mouth. “W-wait, that’s too-,” he was cut off as Bull started hitting against that spot inside him. His cock started pulsating at the sensations, but there was still a small sting of pain accompanied with it. Merely a beginner in sex, he was barely used to the feeling of having something dig in his insides.

Bull slowed down at his grimace, but didn’t stop, so Nym took his dick again to distract himself. He tried to focus on his tongue and the tingling sensations on it when licking Bull’s hot flesh, trying to train his throat to take him deeper inside. Every time he felt like he would gag, he pulled back and licked it instead, before attempting again. Slowly, the sensations in his ass started feeling less invasive and he relaxed more. His knees opened wider on their own accord as pleasure started overtaking the pain. He yelped in surprise and then moaned when Bull’s other hand pinched his nipple and started playing with it. Gradually, as Nym started getting used to it, his hips begun to sway in time with Bull’s thrusts. The elf let out muffled moans, pushing himself back onto Bull’s thick fingers. Every time they pressed against his prostate, a numbing pleasure spread throughout his body, spurring him to rock his body back faster. Before all this started, he wouldn’t have believed that he would be able to take those large fingers inside him and feel good. Then again, what comes after will be even more amazing, he noted.

The fingers abruptly pulled out and Nym looked up questioningly. Bull took his shoulders and helped him up, kissing him deeply. Nym melted into the kiss instantly, feeling the other rub his tongue against his sensitive one. Even though the elf just had his dick in his mouth, Bull didn’t seem to mind. When the Tal-Vashoth pulled back, the elf was a panting mess already.

“ _Now_ you’re ready,” Bull murmured. He changed positions so he was behind the young elf and placed Nym back on his stomach, rising his hips in the air.

Nym tried his best to glance behind him. “I…I’m a bit nervous, not being able to see,” he confessed, surprised by how breathless and strained his voice has become.

“I know, but bear with me. This position will be least hard on your body,” the man explained. He leaned down and traced Nym’s scars with his tongue repeatedly, until the elf relaxed in his arms. “It’ll be alright, trust me,” he reassured, positioning his wet and glistening manhood at Nym’s entrance.

Bull slowly pushed the tip in and Nym gasped, tensing immediately. “Fenedhis!” The elf hissed out. Then he reminded himself to relax and calmed down, balancing out his breath.

“Breathe and relax your muscles,” Bull reminded, pushing deeper in.

The tip wasn’t that bad; it wasn’t much different from Bull’s fingers, but Nym knew that was only the beginning. He could feel the hard heat steadily pushing into him. By the time half was in, the elf’s body was trembling while he let out small winces and sobs. His shallow breath hitched in pain as he couldn’t relax anymore.

Ever so patient, Bull stopped. He waited for the other to adjust to the feeling, tenderly stroking his back and hips. “Relax. Just remember to breathe,” he kept repeating in a soothing tone. He would stop and wait every time he felt Nym tense up too much from the pain or anxiety.

Feeling the elf relaxed enough, he drew back a bit and started pushing forward gradually again, working him open. Nym let out a shaky breath as Bull pushed more of it in. He slowly kept thrusting only half of it in and out, waiting for the other to get used to the feeling before continuing further. When he heard the elf let out a first small moan, he gently pushed a few inches more.

It felt like an excruciatingly long process that was testing Bull’s patience. The insides enveloping him were hot and tight, as if inviting him in. It wasn’t his first time with a man, but it was his first time with a male virgin, and even with all the thorough preparation, Nym was mind-numbingly tight inside. A more carnal part of him wanted to just slam himself all the way inside and fuck the little elf pinned beneath him in every way possible. But he knew that would only hurt Lavellan and ruin their moment together. He was doing this to try and relieve Nym from his everyday stress, not add to it. In the back of his mind, however, he wondered if that wasn’t just an excuse to hold the pretty elf. He couldn’t deny there was an attraction – he wouldn’t be so painfully hard right now, otherwise.

A small whine brought him out of his reflection and Bull looked down to see the thickest part of him was slowly going inside. “You’re doing great. It’s almost all the way in.”

Nym was breathing hard, biting at the sheets to stop his pained cries. He tried his best to calm down, feeling his insides filling up. The feeling couldn’t even be compared to Bull’s fingers from earlier. He chocked as it stretched him even more, seemingly endless at how deep it went inside him, pressing against his innards and rearranging them. “Bull,” he winced, thinking he couldn’t take it anymore. He was slowly starting to panic, scared that this was killing him. There was no way he could fit any more inside. “I can’t anymore. It’s already…my stomach feels too full,” he whined, but then screamed loudly when Bull’s final few inches entered him all at once. His body trembled, eyes wide, but thankfully Bull didn’t move. _*This is crazy! He’s so thick…my insides are brimming,*_ he could barely think straight. “I-is it…is it all the way in?” He tried to glance behind him, but feared to move too much.

Bull leaned over, adding extra weight on his body, which only pushed him deeper inside. The elf cried out, but then felt Bull nuzzle his neck and lick his ears and nape. His large arms enveloped him and Nym felt Bull’s warmth all around him. “Yeah…you did great,” the Tal-Vashoth murmured softly, reassuring him. He landed gentle kisses in Nym’s short hair, nuzzling it.

“Nnn.” It instantly made Nym relax into him. Bull didn’t move, though. For a while, they just stayed like that; Bull kissing and licking his neck, nape, shoulder blades, or tracing over his scars – anywhere his lips could reach. His hands moved to the front, massaging Nym’s chest and playfully pinching his nipples. The elf let out a pleasured sigh, closing his eyes and enjoying the sensations. He felt like he was slowly getting used to the fullness. The heat in his groin started to return, his manhood twitching slightly, reminding him he was still hard and waiting for release. A new pleasurable ache spread through his body and his stretched hole started contracting around Bull, asking for more. Unconsciously, the elf moved his hips, pushing himself back on Bull’s cock. His breath caught at the feeling of his insides being stirred by the action. Even so, he experimentally did it again.  

“Nym.” The sound of Bull’s voice was a growl laced with arousal. He couldn’t see the man, but he could tell he was losing his patience, gradually being replaced by pure lust.

As Bull pulled out slowly and pushed back in, the elf let out a small keen. It wasn’t really painful, but it surprised him. His lover kept the pace slow and careful, using only shallow thrusts. His large hands traveled down Nym’s ribs to his waist, pulling him back into every thrust as he rolled his hips.

A small pang of pleasure appeared in Nym’s stomach. He gasped when he felt Bull pull out more and thrust deeper inside, equally slow but a bit harder now. That pace kept on what felt like forever, until Nymrodel didn’t feel any pain anymore. In fact, he was starting to feel frustrated by the slow, teasing thrusts. He could only wonder how Bull still had the patience to keep it going. But the young elf wasn’t that patient. He wanted more. He gripped the sheets and turned around as far as his neck would allow it. “Bull, more.” It was something between a plea and a demand.

A sound like he exhaled loudly through his nostrils left the Iron Bull. Nym could feel the grip around his waist tighten before the pace picked up. He gasped, feeling Bull pull almost all the way out, his cock rubbing his inner walls, before he pushed back in, right into that spot that made the elf cry out. It wasn’t a pained gasp that escaped him this time, but a full-fledged moan of pleasure. Bull thrust his hips quicker, hitting that spot over and over, until Nym was moaning without restraint.

“Aaah! There,” Nym screamed, drool dripping down his chin. If he thought Bull’s fingers felt amazing when they hit that spot inside, he was in heaven now. Every thrust sent numbing pleasure through his body and the feeling kept building up, like layer upon layer, until that pleasurable ache was the only thing he could feel in his body anymore. The pressure was building up in his groin, his body trembling from the ecstasy. He clawed at the sheets, spreading his knees in overwhelming need to get Bull deeper inside of him, starting to get desperate for release. It was like a switch was flipped in him and there was no going back. Bull was practically slamming into him now, still keeping enough sense not to be too harsh and break the elf, but his every thrust was hard and deep.

Lavellan’s vision was getting hazy and his head was spinning, making it hard to think straight. All Nym could do was moan, feeling his release approaching. His cock twitched painfully, demanding attention. “Feels….ah, feels so good,” Nym moaned, losing all sense. “Come...want to…Creators, Bull, touch me more. I want to come!” He cried out, feeling his orgasm was just out of reach.

Bull grunted with arousal, “Not this time.” He leaned over to Nym’s hands and undid the belt, never stopping his thrusts. The momentary change in position brought down more weight on the elf as Bull grinded his hips against him, his tip rubbing against Nym’s prostate and making the younger keen loudly at the feeling.

“Eh!?” Nym watched in confusion, barely comprehending what was going on. Bull took him by the elbows, pulling his arms back and pulling his body further onto his thrusting hips. He screamed as Bull pounded into him relentlessly.

“You need to learn to come just from your ass, like a good boy.” Bull growled, still holding his arms back as he slammed into him. He felt Nym’s insides tighten around him while he screamed and begged for more.

The elf sobbed, “I-Impossible! I can’t!” His cock felt like it was going to burst. His balls tingled as they tightened up. It hurt. It was a sweet pain of his body begging for release, drowning in a sea of pleasure. And in return, Nym pleaded with Bull, but his pleas fell on deaf ears this time. “Sathan, sathan! Pala em! Nuvenan rosa’da’din,” Nymrodel screamed, not even realizing he started speaking in elven.

Bull frowned, not knowing what the other was saying, but by the loud moans, he doubted it was something bad.

The pressure in Nym’s groin became too much, even without extra stimulation. “Ah! Aaah, sathan! Aaaaah!” His eyes opened wide while his whole body shook with his orgasm. Every muscle in his body tensed and Nym’s vision blurred before going all white. He came hard with one final scream, his ass squeezing tightly around Bull’s thrusting cock. His cum burst forward onto the bedsheets and dripped down his thighs.  

Behind him, Bull grunted, feeling Nym tighten around him. The elf’s hot insides were sucking him in, massaging his member as they convulsed. He managed a few more erratic thrusts, before his own orgasm hit him. With a long exhale he let himself come, watching the cute elf twitch and keen in pleasure beneath him. He let go off Nym’s arms, letting his body flop back on the dirtied bed.

Nym’s whole body went limp, and he shuddered as he felt thick, hot liquid filling his raw insides. He let out a whine at the foreign feeling, too exhausted to move. His eyes were glazed over, his mind completely in a daze, still recovering from his hard orgasm. He came just from the back yet it was the most amazing orgasm he ever had. He could barely register his surroundings, but he winced when he felt Bull pull out of him, disappointed by the loss of heat. It took him so long to adjust to the feeling of Iron Bull inside him, yet now he felt empty without it.  

In the next moment, he was flipped around on his back. Gulping, he gazed up at the large body above him. Bull had this hungry look in his eye as he stared up and down his naked body. He tried to close his knees, his embarrassment returning along with his senses, but Bull’s hands on them stopped him.

Spreading his knees wider, Iron Bull watched the messy, erotic elf. He saw his used hole still twitching from the loss, Bull’s own thick cum dribbling out of it. That lewd sight was enough for the fire to reignite itself inside of him. “Doing it from behind is fun, but now that you’re more used to it…I think it’s even better when I can see you feeling good.”

“Huh?” Nym wasn’t sure what he meant until he realized Bull was still hard and pressing the head of his cock against his entrance. It appeared everything the southerners believed about Qunari libido was true. They weren’t beasts only on the battlefield. However, his stamina wasn’t as good as Bull’s. There was no way he could recuperate and go another round so fast…right?  “W-wait. I just came, I can’t-aaahn!”

The bigger man slowly slid inside of him, until he filled him to the hilt. With his already stretched out, slick hole, it went in easily this time. Even so, Nym grimaced at the uncomfortable burn, then trembled at the sensation of being stuffed. Once again, he felt full and hot inside.

“W-wait …,” he started breathlessly as Bull slowly pulled out, then slammed himself back in. “Ah!” Nym tilted his head backwards, his eyes opening wider when Bull hit right into his prostate. The onslaught continued, making him clutch the sheets.

Bull took a hold of his wrists and pinned them together with one hand over his head. Nym was a mess, moaning again, while tears formed in the corner of his eyes. Pain and pleasure mixed together, while his body was almost forcefully pleasured. It was starting to heat up and react, turning even the ache into torturing pleasure. With every trust of Bull’s dick into his prostate, his cock would twitch and bounce painfully until it became hard again. The pleasurable ache in his groin returned, different than the one in his ass. With every trust he was closer, his whole body growing tenser.

“Amazing,” Bull grunted. “Every time I thrust into you, your ass tightness up more. You feel so good.”

Nym arched his back in response, unable to do anything but writhe under the large body pounding into him. 

The other swayed his hips in a rhythm and put a hand on the elf’s stomach. “Can you feel me inside you? All the way to here,” Bull murmured teasingly, pressing onto his stomach and making the elf groan. His voice was laced with want. His middle finger dipped into Nym’s navel and swirled around playfully, then pressed down just below it where his prostate should be deep inside. It brought a surge of pleasure through Nym’s trembling body, making his member twitch. He groaned again, this time louder.

The Iron Bull was watching him closely, examining every reaction the elf made. He slammed into his ass, going even deeper.

Nym screamed in response, his legs opening wider. He could feel Bull so deep inside him, fucking every part of him. * _I can’t…think anymore. I’m losing my mind.*_ He frantically started swaying his hips, trying to meet those powerful thrusts.

Bull’s other hand snaked under his hips and pulled his waist off the bed. He held him steady while he pounded into him, claiming every part of him.

“Haah!” The little elf couldn’t take it anymore. Tears fell from his eyes and stained the sheets as he buried the side of his face into the bed, before ejaculating with a scream. His cum burst out to stain his stomach, and he could feel the wet heat on his skin.

Bull continued to fuck him through his orgasm, delivering both pleasure and pain. Nym was still clamped around his thrusting dick and Bull groaned in pleasure, watching the sexy mess he made of the elf as he reached his own completion.

As soon as the other released him, Nym slumped onto the bed, exhausted. He was completely spent this time, his balls empty.

Bull sat beside him on the bed, trying to regain his breath. He was panting even harder than the little elf. Turning back to face him, he gently pushed aside some hair stuck to Nym’s sweaty forehead, revealing the gentle brownish vallaslin underneath. “You alright there?”

Nymrodel’s blue eyes weren’t crystal clear as they usually were. They looked unfocused and dark, since he still hadn’t quite regained all of his senses. Bull’s deep voice brought him back to reality and he blinked. When he opened his mouth to speak, he realized how hoarse his voice was, “Y-yeah.”

The Iron Bull stood up and Nym followed his naked form around the room, too tired to try and stop him even if he decided to leave. Thankfully, he didn’t. He took a jug of water from the Inquisitor’s desk and poured some into a cup, returning back to the elf. “Here,” he offered the refreshment to him.

“Thanks,” Nym whispered and tried to prop himself up on his side. As he moved, he felt Bull’s cum leak down his thigh. A bright red blush hit him at the realization and he tried to hide it by squeezing his thighs together. He quickly took the cup and drained down the water, feeling a bit refreshed.

Of course his awkward fidgeting didn’t escape the former Ben-Hassrath’s sharp eye. The man chuckled and got up again, disappearing into the adjoined bathroom before reappearing with a washcloth and a large bowl filled with water. “It might be a bit cold at first, but you’ll get used to it,” he spoke, sitting down on the bed again.

The elf flushed, realizing what Bull was doing. “Ah, no, you don’t have to-.” He hissed at the cold when the wet cloth touched his shoulder. Ignoring his protests, Bull started to wipe him clean. “I can just take a bath later,” he murmured, feeling a bit awkward at how careful Iron Bull was being with him. Not that it felt bad - quite the contrary - but he wasn’t used to someone taking care of him so much.

It reminded him of the times when he was a child with a fever, and his Keeper or Brilwyn would take care of him by wiping his feverish, sweaty body to lower his temperature. His mother used to do the same when she was still living.  

“Trust me, if we keep doing this, you’ll need to be taken care of afterwards. You’ll be too tired to do it yourself.” Bull chuckled, focusing on his task.

Nym’s cheeks heated as the Iron Bull’s words echoed in his mind. _*“Keep doing this”…So, we can do this again?*_ He wanted to ask, but he felt too exhausted for any serious conversation right now. Every so often his head would lull and he rested it back on the pillow. Just like Bull said; he was getting used to the water and the man’s gentle ministrations coaxed him into relaxation.

He felt drowsy, his eyelids heavy all of a sudden. It was hard to stay awake. He felt the wet cloth travel down his arms and sides, and he contently sighed. Before long sweet darkness overtook him, and Nym slept more soundly than he ever did since he became the Inquisitor. 

* * *

 Glossary:

_Fenedhis -_ Fuck

_Sathan_ \- please

_Pala em!_ – Fuck me!

_Nuvenan rosa’da’din_. – I want to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you liked it. For me, it was…racy to write. ^///^ As I said, it’s my first time writing smut, but considering the Iron Bull has a pretty interesting romance path (and the BDSM elements), I thought the hell with it, we’re going all out with this story! It’s rated Explicit already anyway. :P  
> Also sorry this chapter came out a bit later, to be honest, September kind of snuck up on me and I haven’t even realized how long it’s been since my last update. Oops. ^^’ Thank you for reading, and for all the kudos and kind comments! As always, feel free to write what you think of the story so far. See you soon for more Iron Bull/Nym goodness! :D


	23. Thenarasalin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry this update took so long. Life got in the way and then I got a bit sick. I kinda proofread this with my head still a little fuzzy from the cold, so sorry if there are any mistakes left. X)
> 
> WARNING: NSFW content inside! We’re going ahead with Nymrodel and Bull’s relationship, which means sex scene number two! If you don’t like graphic sexual content just skip and scroll to the end of it!
> 
> I hope you like the next chapter! Enjoy!

 

He was awoken by a numbing pain in his hips. It was only an uncomfortable sensation, but not too intense – until he tried to move.

As soon as he tried to get out of bed, a surge of pain rocked Nym’s entire body, settling in his hips. A sharp intake of breath was released in a slow hiss as he tried to will his body to move again. With a wince, he stubbornly tried again, flinging a leg off the bed to stand up. It proved to be another grave mistake. As soon as he stood up, his legs wobbled, and he fell forward with his feet in the air.

“Ow…,” he let out another whine, feeling lucky that there was no one to see him in this pitiful state.

His hips and lower back were killing him, but he stubbornly proceeded to stand back on his unsteady feet. His aim was his desk, which was cruelly station on the furthest side of the room. It was no more than a few paces, but in his state it felt like a whole mile that he needed to cross.

Slowly, he managed to drag himself to his desk, and opened the first drawer where he found a few small phials of healing potion. If someone had told him in the past that he’d be taking a healing potion after sex, he’d only snort at them mockingly. Then again, if they had told him he’d have sex with a large Qunari, he would probably send them into the Beyond personally. Yet, here he was; greedily gulping down the red liquid like it was lyrium and he was a templar, to ease his sore muscles.  He took another one in his hands, considering if he should take it as well, while hoping the potion starts working soon.

“To the Void with it,” he shrugged and gulped down the other flask too. As much as he wasn’t one for posturing like Vivienne, he understood the Inquisitor couldn’t be seen _waddling_ around Skyhold. The healing potion should dull the sharp edges of pain, at least for a while. He hoped it would give him enough sense to clear his mind and analyze everything that happened last night.

With a sigh, he sat at the edge of his desk. His eyes stared at the red carpet while his mind swirled, deep in thought. He had to admit he was a bit disappointed when he awoke to an empty bed in the morning. He hadn’t slept so well in ages, and he realized Bull had cleaned him up while he slept as there was no uncomfortable stickiness on him as he awoke. But now, he was left all alone with his confused thoughts – the only evidence of their time together; the stained, rustled sheets on the bed.

The anxiety that was momentarily forgotten yesterday has now returned, even stronger than before, as he pondered what to do next. What did Bull think about all this? Was it just a one-night stand for him? How was Nym supposed to act around the Tal-Vashoth from now on?

 He bit his lip as flashbacks from their sex last night came into his mind. He couldn’t forget the vivid images, those large hands on him, the strong sensations he never experience before. He shivered, more from the memories than the chilly air on his bare skin. Bull touched him like no one before. He did things to him that Nymrodel didn’t even know he would like. The elf couldn’t simply forget about all that. There was something exhilarating about being at Iron Bull’s mercy; he felt free, unrestrained, not needing to think about anything.

So that was it. He finally realized why he was having such vivid dreams about Bull pinning him down and having his way with him. When he relinquished all control yesterday, it dawned on him. _*I see now. In my mind, I was always the one pinned down, without any control…that’s what I really wanted – to not have to be in charge for once. That desire was about being able to let someone else take the lead for a change,*_ he realized.

But now that he had a taste of that feeling, could he really let it go if necessary? If Bull expected that to be a one-time thing, what was he to do? Nymrodel bit down on his lip harder, his angst rising. His mind was muddled with confusion – torn between his desires and what was expected of him. The sex felt so good he was screaming in pleasure, but was it truly right? He completely cast away his image as the Inquisitor, as Bull’s boss, even his position as a man. What would people say if they learned he liked to be tied down and submissive, and to a Qunari no less, who were still often eyed with suspicion of being spies in the South.

_What would people say?_

That thought would sound ridiculous to him at any other time in his life. He never cared what the shems thought of him – not before he became the Inquisitor. But now was different. Now, Josephine kept hounding him about his image, the nobles held their scrutinizing stares on his every move, and he was to demand recognition as the Inquisition’s leader when he led armies and stood before Kings and Empresses. Common sense would command that he gives up on any relationship that could easily cost him his good reputation.

Yet when he remembers Bull’s hearty laugh or his smoldering gaze, all worry about his reputation and image flies out a metaphorical window. He felt his chest squeeze painfully at the thought of the Tal-Vashoth, and he clutched at the edge of his desk in response. _*Aren’t I jumping to conclusions? I don’t even know what Bull thinks about all this. He might not even be interested in anything more.*_ He concluded, trying to persuade himself not to get his hopes up. His heart contracted again at that notion; He _was_ hoping. Despite his own logic, he was hoping to start something real with the other man. In truth, in spite all his fears and doubts, he already knew he wanted to be more than friends with the Iron Bull.

There was only one way to truly understand where they stood – he had to talk to Bull. The idea brought on a suffocating feeling as fear chocked him. What if he’s rejected? What if he loses not only a chance for a relationship with Iron Bull, but also his friendship? Anxiety and doubt took hold of him. Ironically, the one man whose company always made Nym forget such dreaded feelings was now the one person he couldn’t go see.

~…..~

He knew he was supposed to listen carefully to Cullen’s reports in the War room meeting, but Nym could barely keep his focus on the situation around him. His mind kept escaping to the heated night he had with the Tal-Vashoth yesterday, and the fear of confronting the Iron Bull about it.

“What do you think Inquisitor?” Cullen had asked him a question, but the room was enveloped in awkward silence when no answer came. “Nym?” The commander tried again.

The elf flinched, finally realizing he was being called. “Oh! Sorry, what was that?”

Josephine and Leliana knowingly glanced at each other, before lady ambassador took the lead, “Perhaps we should take a break. We’ve already gone over all these tactics for breaching Adamant before – if we are not ready now, we’ll never be.”

Commander sighed, “You’re right. I just want to be thorough.” He gave the Inquisitor a sideways glance, then smiled. “How about a game of chess, instead? We haven’t played in a while, and Dorian refuses to play with me ever since I beat him.”

Leliana smirked in amusement. “Only you could call chess a ‘break’ from analyzing military tactics, Commander,” she teased.

But Nymrodel understood what Cullen was trying to do - even the former templar could see that the elf was on edge about something and needed a distraction. It was rare to see the Commander take time off his busy schedule, and it made Nym feel guilty that he was creating trouble for his advisors.

Even so, he gave a small nod to the blonde warrior as he smiled, “I’ll take you up on that offer, Commander.” He knew he was far too preoccupied with personal problems to be of any use to the Inquisition at the moment; which was just one more reason why he needed to confront this situation with Bull sooner rather than later. Yet he decided to stave it off for a while, desperately trying to prolong the inevitable.

\----

He wasn’t surprised when he lost, since his lack of concentration got the better of him. Nonetheless, it was a good match, and the casual conversation helped Nymrodel forget his troubles for a while. He enjoyed listening to Cullen, who spoke about the latest letter he got from his siblings, and all the trouble his rascal nephew was getting into these days. He could see the Commander enjoyed it too; he would instantly brighten up as he was reminded of happier times, and that frowning expression would momentarily retreat from his brow.

“What about you? How are you holding up?” Cullen asked him, trying to appear nonchalant.

Lavellan, however, knew it was calculated. He wanted to see what was troubling Nym. The elf was expecting it, of course, although he hoped for their peaceful atmosphere to last for a few moments longer. “I…think it’s just nerves. Because our march to Adamant is drawing near,” he explained. It wasn’t a complete lie, since he truly did worry about their attack on the Grey Warden fortress. And this excuse was much easier to give than talking about his true problem – how to deal with the fact that he had sex with the Iron Bull.

Cullen nodded, not doubting him for an instant. It was easy to believe that the Inquisitor was anxious about going to war. “Don’t worry, we went through every technical detail with Ser Stroud and Hawke. I know we can’t plan for everything, but we are as ready as we’ll ever be.”

Nymrodel bit his lip as Cullen’s words truly hit him. “Attacking the Grey Wardens will be no small feat,” he murmured.

“I know you’ve stormed Keeps before, but this will be different. Especially if they have demons at their disposal. We need to be prepared for more than just armed men and women,” the Commander warned.

Staring at his hands, Nym entwined his fingers together. He was deep in thought again. Cullen was right, this will be no different than all-out war. He was well aware that every battle could be his last, but this one had worse odds than usual. Who knows what the Grey Wardens will have at their disposal other than demons – especially if Corypheus was controlling them.

_*If I don’t tell Bull how I feel now, I might not get another chance,*_ he realized.

When he finally reached a decision, a surge of courage coursed through him, and his newfound strength urged him to act. He abruptly stood from his seat, startling the Commander. “Cullen, forgive me, but I need to go do something _right now_.” He felt if he didn’t act now, he’ll never again gather enough courage for it. If things in Adamant turn sour, he didn’t want to have any regrets.

Cullen gazed up at him in wonder, but then smiled in understanding. “In truth, there was something else I wanted to talk to you about, but it can wait. Go do what you must, Inquisitor.”

Smiling at him in gratitude, Lavellan turned and hastily walked out of the garden, towards the location Bull frequented the most; the tavern. His pace was quick and steady, feeling this sudden rush of determination pushing him onwards, giving wind to his every step.

_*I don’t care about my reputation, or image, or any of that. If I do a good job as the Inquisitor. If I help the people. Then nobody will be able to complain about my choices. This isn’t anyone’s concern but my own! I have a right to be happy too. I don’t know how Bull will react, but I don’t want to run away from my own feelings like a coward. Even if he rejects me, I would rather be honest with him and myself than pretend nothing happened between us.*_ He crossed the courtyard in quick strides, his blue eyes blazing with resolve.

Dorian noticed him on his way and called out, “Nym-”

“Not now,” the elf cut him off, passing by the mage in a hurry. He was fearful that any delay might waver his commitment.

When he reached the Herald’s Rest, he swung the doors open without a second thought and almost slammed them into the wall from the force. He froze when for a moment it felt like every pair of eyes was staring at him, searing into him with their inquisitive gaze.

He swallowed hard as the reality of what he was about to do dawned on him. _*Courage, Nymrodel. All you need is a little bit of courage,*_ he convinced himself, and willed his legs to work. Carefully, he stepped into the tavern and closed the doors behind him.

It was still early afternoon so the building was mostly empty, with only a few people chatting together over a meal. As per usual, Cabot was minding the bar, putting away clean tankards. He gave the Inquisitor a small nod, and Nym returned it curtly. He was relieved when the people turned their eyes away from him and resumed their activities, minding their own business.

It didn’t take long before he spotted Bull at his usual table, drinking in the middle of the day. It didn’t matter since the man had such high tolerance for alcohol. Now that he thought about it, he never even saw Bull drunk – although, that was to be expected. The former Ben-Hassrath wasn’t foolish enough to give his enemies any opportunity to catch him in such a state, when his guard would be lowered.

 Nym dismissed these trivial thoughts as he made his way over to the other man. He could feel himself trying to speak, but no voice came out. How come he could face a high dragon, but trembled in fear at the idea of approaching the Iron Bull with this?

Thankfully, the Tal-Vashoth noticed him and gave him a bright smile. “How ya doing, Boss?”

Instantly, relief washed over the elf. He was so nervous, thinking what kind of attitude Bull would have when they meet, yet the man simply gave him his everyday smile. He acted no different than usual.

“It’s good that you’re here. I was meaning to find you, anyway. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” the Iron Bull continued.

Nymrodel blinked in surprise, his perplexed expression betraying his confusion. Wasn’t that the other way around? It was Nymrodel who needed to talk to _Bull_. “Uhh…Sure. We can talk now,” he said carefully, taken aback by Bull’s straightforwardness. He felt like a lost fool, completely stumped for words. All that blazing determination suddenly washed away.

Iron Bull grinned and got out of his chair, the wooden furniture creaking in relief. “Come on,” he gestured for Nym to follow him as he headed up the stairs.

The elf did so quietly, his shoulders slumping a little as if he tried to shrink and disappear from sight. He thought he would blurt out everything he wanted to say to Bull with confidence, but this change of pace completely threw him off balance. He was back to his timid, uncertain self.

 He kept his gaze on the ground as he followed the large Tal-Vashoth, until he heard doors closing behind him and realized he was standing in Bull’s quarters. He almost collided with Bull’s chest when the giant turned to face him.

“You…probably already know why I came here,” Nym started, finally finding his voice.

“Yeah, I have a pretty good idea,” the other shrugged. “I wanted to give you some time to think things through. Didn’t want to push you before you’re ready.”

Breathing a chuckle, the elf closed his eyes for a moment. That was so typical of Bull; leisurely taking his time and letting Nym carry on at his own leisure. Never pressuring him. The notion made him relax a bit and some of the tension left his shoulders.

He decided to face this man in the same honest and straightforward manner as Bull always did for him. He peered up at him, under his greyish eyebrows, as he spoke. “Nobody has ever done that to me before…I’m sure you already know that much. I…enjoyed it,” he admitted. There was still some awkward bashfulness left in his voice, but a heavy burden was lifted off his heart along with his confession.

Iron Bull gave him a smile, an amused glint in his one eye. “Of course you did.” His voice was calm and soft, like a low rumble of a distant waterfall. “Ben-Hassrath training, remember? Grew up learning to manipulate people,” he shrugged, but there was no smugness in his tone despite his words – only simple clarification. He went to sit on the only chair in his room while he talked. “When it’s a hostile target, you give them what they want. But when it’s someone you care about, you give them what they _need_.”

The elf tilted his head in question, “What I need? Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Not necessarily. Sometimes, you don’t even know what you need until you get it,” the Tal-Vashoth explained. Seeing that the elf was still staring at him with that quizzical expression, he elaborated, “You’re the Inquisitor. You didn’t ask for the job, but you’ve taken on the responsibility. You’ve got thousands of lives riding on your decisions. You bear that weight _all day_.” His tone lowered even more as he continued, soothing the rough edges of his voice, “You need a place where you can be safe, knowing someone else is in charge for a bit.”

Nymrodel felt a shiver run down his spine from Bull’s accurate words – they hit right on the mark and he realized, somewhere on a subconscious level, he always knew he wanted that…no, _needed_ that. He bit his lip as his big eyes pierced into the man, “I…think you’re right.”

“Good. Figured you’d kick me out yesterday if you disagreed,” the man chuckled, with a small smirk staying on his features. 

However, there were still a lot of things troubling Nym. To begin with, he still didn’t know what Bull thought about all this. Did he even want to continue this? “What about what _you_ need?”

On his surprise, the Tal-Vashoth let out a lazy laugh, “Hey, I’m good.” He eyed the skeptical-looking elf with an unreadable expression while another glint appeared in his eye, “I’m _better_ than good.” Another chuckle escaped him, “You, uh, don’t need to trouble yourself on that front. Ol’ Iron Bull is just fine.”

Being stared at in that way, Nymrodel couldn’t help but flush – a mixture of embarrassment and need bubbling inside him. He scratched the back of his head, his eyes darting sideways to escape Bull’s stare. “So…That yesterday doesn’t have to be a one-time thing? We can do it again?” He barely forced the words out, mortified by his own eagerness.

“That’s up to you, Boss. If you want it light and casual, that’s fine with me. But long as we’re doing this, you’ve got my complete attention,” he smirked.

_*So no more passing time with the serving girls?*_ Nym had to stop himself from blurting the question out, but deep in his heart he was glad, giddy almost. He felt relieved that he didn’t have to share Bull with anyone else. He wondered if he could really do “light and casual,” though.

Reaching a decision, Lavellan swallowed a hard lump in his throat. In truth, he had already knew what he wanted when he went to find Bull. The Tal-Vashoth showed him a new world, a new side of himself, and it was too alluring to resist. “So if I agree…I mean, if _we_ do this…how will it work exactly?”

Titling his head to the side, Bull gave him a teasing smile. “I thought I showed you yesterday how well it can work.”

Nym stiffened, growing crimson all the way to the tips of his pointy ears. He didn’t need Bull to remind him of what happened yesterday – his mind was doing a well enough job of it on its own.

The Tal-Vashoth roared in laughter at the flushed elf fidgeting before him. He could never resist teasing him. Mellowing his laughter down to snickers, he started to explain, “But seriously though…it’s simple.” His expression straightened as he turned to a more serious note, “Outside your room, nothing changes. You’re the Inquisitor. You’re the Boss. As for what we do in our free time, whatever happens, I will never hurt you without your permission. You will always be safe.”

Nym blinked, a bit startled by his heartfelt attitude. _‘I will never hurt you.’_ _‘You will always be safe’_ – hearing such declarations come from Iron Bull in such a genuine manner felt like an arrow through the heart.  

“If you’re ever uncomfortable, if you ever want me to stop, you say “ _Katoh_ ,” and it’s over. No questions asked.”

Suddenly feeling nervous, Nymrodel shifted from one leg to the other. A part of him was still wondering if he was getting well over his head with this. “It’s a little unnerving that you have this down to a system,” he frowned. How many times did Bull do this exactly? He quickly dismissed that thought, not wanting to hear the answer; he didn’t want to think about that.

“Systems are comfortable. _Rules_ are comfortable. And my goal…,” Bull slowly stood up, the chair creaking under him. He loomed over the shorter man, leaning in to one of Nym’s sensitive ears. “…is for you to get _very_ comfortable,” he whispered the rest in his ear.

Nym shivered at the closeness. All of a sudden, the large Tal-Vashoth was towering over him, close enough for his hot breath to tickle his skin. He gazed up at that one darkened eye and an exhilarating feeling washed over him. A sudden need to be touched creeped up inside him. He wanted Bull to grab him, to manhandle him like he did last night. He wondered if his expression was enough to convey those desires to the other. He gave the man a heated look, silently pleading for something he barely knew how to put into words yet. 

He stepped closer to the man, determined to stand his ground and accept these feelings bubbling inside of him. “Bull…,” he started, grabbing his arm.

However, the larger man didn’t move. That’s when Nymrodel realized, he was waiting for him to ask – for a verbal response. Bull wasn’t going to touch him unless he asks for it. He gulped, frustration overpowering his shyness. The hand holding Bull’s wrist tightened. “Take me,” his voice was stunningly breathless, sounding foreign to his own ears.

Iron Bull’s one eye blazed as he responded, “Can do.” In the next moment, he grabbed the elf by the hips and lifted him. Nym reflexively wrapped his legs around his waist and his arms around his neck. Bull pressed the smaller man against a nearby wall, crashing their lips together in a passionate kiss.

The elf winced, both at the force of the kiss and the hard, muscular body that was pinning him - his trembling form trapped between Bull and the wall. He squirmed in want as scorching heat coursed through his body, finally pooling into his groin. Growled into the kiss, Bull deepened it by sliding his tongue in and hungrily exploring his mouth. He let out a muffled moan, his tongue playing around with Bull’s. All too soon, the Tal-Vashoth pulled away, leaving him a breathless, overly-excited mess.

The contact was broken for only a second, before Bull turned his attention to his ear and neck. Nym let out a shaky breath, but titled his head to the side to give the man more room. Bull nibbled at the outer part of the slender ear, licking his way down to the spot on his neck, right behind the ear. He sucked on that spot, making Nym moan and squirm in his arms.

“Bull…,” the elf breathlessly called his name, rolling his hips into the hard body pressing on him. He needed more contact and quick.

The Tal-Vashoth only chuckled against his skin, trailing kisses down his throat, sometimes stopping to suck or nip at a certain spot. His one hand still held onto Nym firmly, while the other sneaked its way under his shirt. He felt the soft skin underneath, muscles tensing under his touch. His fingers traveled up towards a nipple and he teasingly squeezed it. Nym’s soft moans and rolling of his hips, as his body demanded more contact, left a burning storm inside him. Perhaps it was his Qunari instinct that gave him the urge to pulverize the tender body writhing beneath him, yet at the same time, want to protect it. The bestial impulse at the core of his body begun to stir. Some instinct begged him to drown Nymrodel even deeper in pleasure. But he fought it, and pulled away instead.

Nym’s lips quivered at the loss of contact, looking up at the Tal-Vashoth with big, wet eyes. There was confusion in his gaze.

“I won’t fuck you now,” Iron Bull murmured, sounding hoarse.

Frustration stirred inside of Lavellan in response. “Why?!” He wanted to kick himself at how needy he sounded.

Bull only smirked at the elf’s irritated gaze. “Because we’re gonna do this right. Tonight. Wait for me in your room.” He lifted him with both arms on his ass and gave a squeeze, enjoying the small, startled squeak that escaped the elf. Then he carried him over to the bed and lowered him there, gently this time.

“I’m fine doing it now, though.” Lavellan protested, unwilling to let go yet. He was still latched onto the large body.

Iron Bull chuckled, then gave the elf one more kiss on the lips. “I can see that. But you’re still new to this and only getting used to sex with _me_. You know you won’t be good for much once I’m done with you. I don’t mind doing it in the middle of the day, but then you can toss all the work you have planned for today out the window.” He grinned mischievously at the Inquisitor.

Not fair. Bull was playing on his sense of responsibility as the Inquisitor. “Low blow, _the Iron Bull_ ,” Nym grumbled. He did his best to glower at the man, but he doubted it looked very threatening with how worked-up he was at the moment. He probably looked closer to crying.

“I have some preparation to do before, too. But don’t worry…” He trailed feathery kisses across Nym’s cheek and ear, before he seductively murmured in it, “I’ll make sure you’re _thoroughly_ satisfied tonight.” The body beneath him shuddered in thrill. With a smirk, he pulled away, placing one last kiss on the elf’s cheek. “And don’t take care of it yourself, either. It’ll be more fun that way later,” he grinned evilly.

Nymrodel’s jaw fell open. How was he supposed to get anything done today in this pathetic state? He would have to lay here and wait for his arousal to pass, and from the tight tent in his pants, that won’t be anytime soon. He watched Bull walk towards the doors, ready to leave the room. “You….cocktease!” He shouted in frustration the first thing that came to mind.

The Iron Bull laughed loudly, but nonetheless left the room and the fuming elf inside it. As he walked away, he could hear a few muffled elven curses directed at him from the other side of the door.

~…..~

Two guards were standing near the main gates of Skyhold, idly chatting as they both kept their eyes trained on a sight before them. They saw Inquisitor Lavellan walk across the courtyard, stopping to talk to someone or examine the infirmary on his way. Only, this time, the elf looked far less focused on his work than usual.

“Say…Isn’t the Inquisitor a bit off today?” One guard asked his comrade.

The other was silent for a moment, examining the said topic of discussion as he pondered on it. “Well…he does appear kind of distracted,” he decided with a shrug.

Just then, Lavellan swiftly turned as if forgetting his way for a moment, only to bump into a fence, which he completely overlooked. The two guards flinched, grimacing at what looked like a painful collision.

“Yeah, definitely a bit off…,” the second guard agreed again.

They watched the Inquisitor rub his sore forehead, then dust himself off. He took a deep breath, quickly glancing around to check if anyone noticed his embarrassing act. As his eyes traveled towards the two guards, they both quickly looked away, pretending they hadn’t witnessed anything. Then the elf turned to his intended direction and started walking again. As he did, a goofy grin that just wouldn’t leave his face appeared once more on his lips, his features practically beaming.

As the two guards returned their gazes back on the Inquisitor, the first one commented, “But…doesn’t he look really happy, somehow?”

\-----

A quarter of a candle had already burned out by the time Nymrodel was able to calm down enough to exit Bull’s room, feeling his head finally cleared a little. He didn’t know if it were truly so, but it was high time for him to return to his duties – he couldn’t shirk his responsibilities now, so close to their journey into the Western Approach. 

He remembered Josephine had called for a meeting of judgment around this time and headed for the castle. He barely stepped into the main hall when Mother Giselle cut his path. It seemed like he hadn’t seen her in ages; she mostly spent her time in the Skyhold gardens now, helping the newest arrivals and refuges to settle in and find their long-lost hope.

Even before she spoke, he could see the troubled expression on her aged features. It wasn’t often that he saw her with anything but a patient, calm demeanor, so the frown on her face stood out conspicuously.

“Inquisitor. If I could have a moment of your time?” Even her voice sounded worried.

He glanced behind her at the gathering crowd, where Josephine was ready to start the procedure as soon as he arrived. In all honesty, he never liked those judgements so prolonging the inevitable didn’t seem like the worst idea at the moment. His gaze fell back on the cleric in front of him. “What can I do for you, Mother Giselle?”

“I have news regarding one of your…companions. The Tevinter,” she explained.

Nym scowled at her uncomfortable change in demeanor when she mentioned the Tevinter mage. “You mean, _Dorian_?” He emphasized his name on purpose. Dorian wasn’t just a _Tevinter,_ but a valued friend and ally of his and the Inquisition. In spite of how stiffly the Mother had called him a companion. “Has he caused a scene with some of the nobles again?” He had to restrain a weary sigh from the memories of last time when some Fereldens wanted to shame Dorian for being a Tevinter mage. They picked on him, and of course, he pushed back…rather sharply. His witty tongue, usually used for quips, could turn quite poisonous when he desired, and the Fereldeners didn’t stand a chance in a duel of wits against him. In the end, it was Nymrodel and Josephine who needed to intervene lest it become a diplomatic incident.

On his outmost relief, the Revered Mother shook her head. “No, thankfully. It’s nothing like that. I have been in contact with his family: House Pavus. Are you familiar with them?”

What little comfort Nym had felt from her words immediately scattered. He grimaced, “Dorian only told me a little, but apparently, they aren’t on good terms.” He didn’t want to go into detail about the man’s personal affairs, though truthfully, he didn’t know much to begin with.

She nodded in agreement, “I believe you are correct. They sent me a letter describing the estrangement from their son and pleading for my aid. They’ve asked to arrange a meeting. Quietly, without telling him. They fear it’s the only way he’ll come. Since you seem to be on good terms with the young man, I’d hoped…,” she trailed off, her voice faltering.

Or perhaps, it was the gradually darkening scowl on the Inquisitor’s face that made her waver. Lavellan was far from pleased; the more he listened, the leerier he got. “You want me to trick Dorian into meeting his family? To begin with, how do we know this isn’t some kind of trap from the Venatori?”

She nodded again, strengthening the grip on her clasped fingers in disconcertment. “It did occur to me. Another reason to put this in your hands, Inquisitor. I pray that isn’t the case, but if it is, you are far better equipped than I to respond to such treachery.”

He still didn’t like the idea. There were too many unknowns. Too many things to go wrong. “So what do they want, exactly?”

“I believe they just want to talk, to understand why Dorian felt he had to come here. Somewhere private, away from Skyhold, but not in Tevinter. You make them nervous, I think. They don’t understand why he’s with the Inquisition. They want him to come home.”

“And they think _this_ is the way to accomplish that; by arranging clandestine meetings and tricking him?” He clenched his fists by his side. _*Of course they wouldn’t want to be seen meeting the dreaded Inquisitor in Tevinter – that’s why they don’t want us there,*_ he mused bitterly. Dorian did say appearances were everything to his family – only one of the many things on which their son didn’t see eye-to-eye with them.   

Mother Giselle calmly exhaled, showing an understanding expression that only a Chantry mother could master to such perfection. “It is not for me to judge on their parenting. I was simply asked to deliver the message. Although, I suspect there’s more to it than either of us understand.”

_*Now that she mentioned it…,*_ an idea popped in his mind. “Why would they contact _you_? Tevinter doesn’t even support your Chantry.”

For just a moment the Revered Mother appeared offended, her voice coming out a bit harsher than she wanted it to. “Because they don’t know you, Inquisitor.” She quickly collected herself, returning to her serene tone, “I’m not of the Imperial Chantry, but they know what I represent. These are parents concerned about the welfare of their son. How could I not do whatever possible?”

_And she would be far from disappointed if Dorian returns back to his homeland and quits the Inquisition,_ a more cynical part of Nym sneered in his mind. He knew Mother Giselle, like many others in the organization, had her misgivings about the Tevinter mage. Cassandra and Iron Bull were only now slowly getting used to him. Still, he didn’t want to be unfair to the Mother. She had been nothing but helpful to the Inquisition so far, and he knew she always had good intentions. She was one of the few Chantry people Nymrodel truly liked.

 “I would speak to the young man myself, but…he doesn’t care for me,” she continued. “Thus I come to you. If any good can come of this, we must try. There is deceit in bringing the young man to this meeting without his foreknowledge, I know. But…does it not lead to a greater kindness if there is potential for reconciliation?”

Nymrodel gave her a bitter smile as he sighed in exasperation, “You’re not playing fair, Mother Giselle. When you put it like that, it’s hard to refuse.” He was sure she purposely phrased it that way. The woman smiled, neither admitting nor denying it, but a mischievous twinkle glistened in her eye.

“However, I don’t like the idea of tricking Dorian into this…There has to be a better way.” He heard a clearing of a throat behind Giselle and noticed Josephine expectantly staring at them. She was still waiting on him to start the trials. He had to wrap up this conversation quickly. Glancing back at the Chantry mother, he gave her a resigned look, “I’ll think about it.”

She seemed satisfied with that answer, at least. “The family will send a retainer to meet the young man at Redcliffe tavern to take him onward. If he truly does not wish this reunion, he can always end the matter there. Here is their letter,” she handed him a neatly folded letter the Pavus family had sent her.

Without looking at its contents, he buried it deep into the pocket of his trousers. He will have to read and analyze the message later, in case there is some indication whether this was genuine or a trap. He felt a bit uncomfortable reading through private correspondence of Dorian’s family, but there was no other choice at this point.

“If there is any chance of success in this, it behooves us to act.” She gave him a knowing stare.

Lavellan only hummed in thought at her words, then gave her a raised eyebrow with a sardonic look. “You don’t have to keep selling me on this, Revered Mother. I already agreed to think about it,” he smirked.

With that, the Inquisitor excused himself and headed for yet another vexatious meeting – one with his ugly throne. He never enjoyed these judgment proceedings, always doubtful whether he made the right choice on the matter. There were some people who were unhappy with his decisions, but he knew it was unrealistic to expect everyone to agree with him anyway. He couldn’t do much about that. All he could do was follow his own moral code and hope it was the right thing to do.

As soon as he sat on the spiked seat, Lady Montilyet started her announcement. All chatter in the throne room ceased until not even a whisper was heard. They all awaited with eager eyes to witness the trails of Inquisition’s newest prisoners.  

“Before you is Servis of the Minrathous Circle of Magi. You met him and his Venatori in the Western Approach. He admits to working for Corypheus, raising monsters and using magic for conquests. He also used his connections to smuggle magical artifacts out of the Approach. _Without_ his master’s consent.”

Nymrodel raised an amused eyebrow. So the man was stealing from Corypheus – disloyal to both sides in this war. He was the very definition of war-profiteer.

The mage wasn’t like the usual Corypheus’ lackeys. He didn’t stand there shouting about the glory of the Elder One or hatefully cursing the Inquisition. He wasn’t one to forgo begging for his life, either. He renounced Corypheus and the Venatori before Nymrodel could even ask any questions, quickly jumping on the topic of his possible worth to the Inquisition.

The Inquisitor leaned on the throne’s armrest, holding up his head in a mix of boredom and scrutiny. He eyed the human before him, thoroughly considering his proposal. The mage had offered connections with Tevinter nobles who owed him debts, but Lavellan got a better idea on how to use this man. His voice was stern when he spoke, “Someone who can smuggle magical artifacts to Tevinter and back shouldn’t be wasted on court diplomacy. Bring those artifacts back to the Inquisition. Procure something really useful, and we _might_ loosen the shackles.”

Servis smiled to himself in glee, giving Lavellan a prideful gaze. He sounded far too arrogant when he spoke again, “Your Worship knows value when he sees it. I won’t disappoint.”

Lavellan only returned the smile with a glare. His expression remained unforgiving and unamused as he watched Servis, purposely reminding the mage that he was still no more than a useful prisoner of the Inquisition. Still held in shackles, the Tevinter was taken away by the guards.

He turned to his diplomat, “Is that all, Lady Ambassador?”

“It is, for now, Inquisitor.”

“Very well.” He stood from his throne in such haste, it made him a bit dizzy. He was simply glad the proceedings were over, feeling lucky that there was only one prisoner to judge and it didn’t need to end in anyone’s death. Some disgruntled looks were cast his way from the crowd, but he was used to it by now, and he ignored the dubious comments his adept hearing picked up on.

As the flock of nobles slowly dispersed, Nym made his way towards the one person whose opinions he truly wanted to hear at the moment. He found Varric sitting at his usual table on the side, scribbling notes – presumably for his next book. As soon as he saw the elf approaching, he gave him a roguish smile, “What can I do for you, your Inquisitorialness?”

Nym huffed in amusement, shaking his head slightly. “You never get tired of nicknames, do you?”

The dwarf shrugged, “What can I say; I have a talent for them.  Can’t let it go to waste.”

The elf gasped in mocking sarcasm, “Perish the thought!” His smile lingered for a while, but as he pulled out the letter from his pocket, the good humor dwindled. “I was hoping to get some advice from you on a rather… _delicate_ matter. You’re a people person, right? Maybe you’ll make some sense of it.” He handed the letter of House Pavus to the dwarf.

“Always happy to help,” Varric joked. As he read through it, his mirthful expression morphed into a troubled scowl. He was silent for a while, rereading certain parts of it.

“What do you think; a trap or a real deal?”

The dwarf sighed, “It’s hard to tell…So his family wants to meet with Sparkler, but they don’t approve of the Inquisition? And they want to do it without telling him?”

Nym nodded, his lips pressed together in a troubled expression. “They say he might not want to meet with them if he knew…Mother Giselle said it could bring to good things, maybe even reconciliation between him and his family. If that’s true, I would be happy for him. But tricking Dorian like this? It doesn’t sound right.”

“So you don’t know if you should tell him or not,” Varric concluded. He got up from his chair, shaking his head with a sigh. “Family shit is always a delicate subject. And Sparkler evidently has a lot of bad blood with his.” He gave Lavellan a shrug, “Not sure what you want _me_ to do about it?”

Nym groaned in frustration, spinning on his heel and flopping down on the chair opposite Varric’s. “I want you to give me some sound advice! I don’t know what to do here…It’s like deciding whether means justify the end if it’s for the greater good.”

“Or it might all blow up in your face…especially if it’s a trap,” the dwarf added.

“Yeah,” he muttered, resting his hands on the table and his chin on top of them.

Varric exhaled again, this time longer and more pronounced. “Look. There’s no time to go to Redcliffe now anyway, since we’re leaving for the Western Approach in a few days. Why not think it over during that time. Then you either tell him or take him to Redcliffe when we get back…if we’re still alive by then.” He proposed, ending on a rather bleak note despite his lighthearted tone.

Nym snorted, “Optimistic as ever, I see.”

“Hey, you’ve already survived a giant explosion, a fall from the fade, faced down an ancient magister and his Archdemon, and lived after a mountain toppled on you...if anyone can live through a battle with crazy Wardens and a demon army – it’s you. Me, however, I’m not so sure about,” he tilted his head to the side while considering his odds of survival.

Nym gave him a small smile, but it looked sad. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Varric.” He tried to sound confident, not wanting to think about how impossible that kind of promise might be. He _will_ get them all back to Skyhold in one piece. He had to.

Varric smiled back, a warm gaze in his hazel eyes. “Thanks buddy, but I think I should be the one looking after you, not the other way around.”

“Then how about we watch each other’s backs,” he suggested with a grin.

His friend laughed, “Deal.”

~…..~

He swallowed hard again, just as he did many times already, yet his throat kept drying up. It was just nerves, but the acknowledgement of that fact didn’t actually make it any better. Nym was sitting on his bed in his quarters, fidgeting with his trousers in anticipation. He looked at the burning candle on the bedside, estimating how much time has passed since he started his wait.

Finishing all his work for today early, he headed straight for his room in the castle before anyone could stop him and give him any new assignments. He had to mask his eagerness as he flew up two steps at the time until he reached his bedroom.

In truth, he was expecting to find Iron Bull already there – sitting on his bed patiently, like last time. Disappointment settled in his stomach when he found himself standing in the middle of an empty room, the dark orange of the low afternoon sun traveling through the gaps in the curtains and illuminating his pale features.

So he sat on the bed, back perfectly straight and shoulders stiff in impatience, and waited. Bull did say he needed to prepare for their time tonight, but Nymrodel had no idea what that meant. Squirmed on the bed again, his nimble fingers playing with the fabric of his pants. He thought about keeping his mind busy with some paperwork, but soon realized he had no focus for it. Not when he kept expecting to hear a knock on his door at any moment. Every time the sounds of footsteps or voices came from downstairs in the hall, the fidgety elf would flinch. He even took a bath in his adjoined washroom, scrubbing himself clean of the day’s sweat, before changing into his casual wear he wore around his quarters. Afterwards, he sat right back on the furs of his bed, waiting for those heavy footsteps to sound outside his door.

The light in the room was already dimming, forcing Nym to light a few more candles, before three thumps on his door made him jump. Not wanting to appear too desperate, he slowly stood up and took a few paces away from the bed. His heart picked up in speed, and he cleared his throat to try and calm his nerves before calling out, “It’s open!” He left his doors unlocked on purpose, for this very reason.

After hearing the opening and closing of his slightly strident door, he immediately recognized the steps that followed – somewhat uneven, indicating a faint limp in one leg. The wooden staircase groaned under the weight. He knew who to expect even before he saw two pointed horns appear behind the railing. 

“Hey, Boss.” The Tal-Vashoth greeted him with a relaxed smile, his one eye gleaming in the faint lighting. The metallic eyepatch reflected the candlelight in shadowy orange colors.

Nym wasn’t sure what expression to make. Relieved, nervous, excited, happy – he didn’t know which one to choose out of all the feelings he was experiencing at the moment. At last, he settled on a simple smile and a nod in greeting, “Bull.”

The large man grinned as he leisurely made his way forward, never once hesitating in his step. He towered over the elf with all his two meters of height, but leaned in so Nym wouldn’t have to break his neck to meet his gaze. He tucked two fingers under Nym’s chin and lifted his head, smirking as he locked his eye with his blue orbs. “Nervous?”

He definitely didn’t want to get laughed at for being inexperienced. So he kept a steady gaze on Bull as he answered as confidently as he could muster, “Not at all.”

The other’s grin widened, leaning in even closer until their lips were almost brushing against each other. “Nym…,” Bull started. The elf was captivated by his stare, forgetting the most basic of functions to operate...or to breathe, for that matter. Then Iron Bull whispered, “You’re still a terrible liar.”

And just like that, the moment, along with the spell Bull temporarily had over him, was broken. Lavellan pushed away, punching the Tal-Vashoth’s hard shoulder in irritation. “You ass!” He glared at him the best he could, as flustered as he was.

Bull only roared in laughter, barely feeling the hit he received from the elf. “Just tryin’ to relax you, Boss.” He put up his hands in front of him defensively, showing he meant no offense.   

A disappointed sigh left Nymrodel’s lips. “So it’s back to being ‘Boss’, huh?” He murmured under his breath, purposely theatrical. He learned a thing or two from Dorian.

Two brawny arms wrapped around his slender waist from behind, pulling him into a hard chest and stomach. Bull’s stomach wasn’t really flat or ripped, but it wasn’t soft or flabby either. There were still hard, trained muscles under all that protruding flesh. A faint smile flickered on his lips as that warmth enveloped him, betraying his feigned anger.  Bull’s voice was low, a deep rumble, as he spoke into his ear, “Not for long.” It was a promise that told of things to come, and the very notion made the elf’s shiver in anticipation.

For a while they stayed like that; the giant holding him in his strong arms, and Nym felt safe, enjoying the sensation of being engulfed in Bull’s warmth. His eyes fluttered shut, then opened slowly when he heard Bull’s baritone voice again, “You don’t have to be afraid.”

Lavellan turned around to face the man, his eyes crystal clear as he gazed up at him. His right hand rested upon Bull’s cheek, touching the rugged features of his unshaved skin. “I’m not afraid,” he answered, never wavering in his stare, and this time there was no dishonesty in his tone. His heart might be beating strongly, but it wasn’t out of fear. Lifting himself up on his toes to reach Bull’s lips, he pushed his own against them, closing his eyes in the moment. Unlike in Bull’s quarters, the kiss now was gentle and slow. When he pulled apart from his lover and opened his eyes again, he could see Bull’s aroused gaze mirroring his own. In a voice of a breathless whisper only one demand came, “Take me to bed.”

“On it,” the Tal-Vashoth murmured, his words flowing in haste. He lifted the young elf up by the waist and carried him to bed, then flopped him down on his back. Before Nym could sit up, he climbed on top of him and kissed him again, harder this time. His tongue slid inside that small cavern, feeling a prick from a sharp canine. Pulling back in interest, Bull dipped two fingers inside the elf’s mouth.

Instead of protesting, Nym let out a small whimper as his wet tongue was rubbed and pinched. He would only begrudgingly admit it, but his mouth was also an erogenous zone, which was part of the reason why making out with Bull always felt so amazing. Those large fingers stuffed his mouth, playing with his tongue and grazing over his sharp cupids.

“I never noticed your teeth were sharp here,” the Tal-Vashoth commented in enthusiasm. He tried for the upper canines and noticed the same prickly feeling, which caused him to chuckle. “That’s adorable. Do all elves have them so sharp?” He was completely wrapped up in his curious discovery.

That is, until he noticed the Dalish glower up at him in annoyance. “Howf shfould I knowf,” he answered in irritation with Bull’s fingers still in his mouth. They were about to have sex and _that_ is what Bull’s attention was on?

Bull’s snicker sounded like a series of deep huffs. “My bad.” He pulled his fingers out of Nym’s mouth, ignoring the trail of saliva left on them. Instead, he claimed the elf’s mouth again, while expertly working his tunic open.

“Mmmn,” Nym moaned softly, any other protests he might have had vanishing from his mind. His arms reflexively wrapped around Bull’s thick neck as he deepened the kiss. Slowly, the lusty heat was starting to course through him, and the ministrations of Bull’s tongue only added to that fever.

 Final buttons of his shirt popped opened as Bull continued to kiss him with fervor, teasingly trailing his wet fingers around one nipple. Nym flinched, a shiver running down his spine at the slightly cold feeling. The Tal-Vashoth continued to suck on his tongue until cute noises started in whimpers in the back of his throat. He was breathless, his head spinning, yet Bull’s tongue continued to explore every part of his mouth. It felt like he was melting; even his hazy mind was turning into putty.

When they finally broke apart, Nym was left panting, his tongue sticking out while feeling raw and hot. A trail of saliva connected their tongues, and it slid down the corner of his lightly parted mouth. His whole body was trembling from the hot kiss.

Bull licked his lips at the sight. “You really like kissing, huh?” His one eye was glazed over, the stormy grey in it burning intently.

Lavellan licked his swollen lips too, but gave no answer. It was embarrassing, but true. His mouth was really an erogenous zone, especially the tongue. Still trying to catch his breath, he kept his gaze up on Bull as the other talked.

 “I thought this before too…you really feel it when we kiss, don’t you? You’re whole body is sensitive, but your especially weak to kisses. It makes me wanna do all kinds of things,” he grinned devilishly before leaning in for another deep kiss.

The elf moaned, but tried to push Bull away. “Wait-,” he started. What the man said was true, and Nym was more excited than usual, given the state he was left in earlier that day. He was already reaching his limit, his pants painfully tight. Bull’s calloused hands stroking his bare chest and sides weren’t helping either. If they continued to kiss like that, he was afraid his end would come embarrassingly quick.

Alas, Bull had no ear for his pleas at the moment. He cut him off with another deep kiss, enjoying the violent shudders and trembles he generated in the little elf every time he coiled his tongue around his.   

Nymrodel could feel the heat rising, pooling in his groin. He rolled his hips into Bull’s, although with their gap in height, it reached Bull’s stomach instead. He winced at the thumbs stroking his chest roughly, while his mouth was violated without pause. Managing to break free for a second, he panted for breath. “No, if you continue…I’ll-”

Once again, he was stopped by Bull’s tongue in his receptive mouth. Drool was sliding from his swollen lips, his body seeking any contact and warmth he could get from the other as his hips continued to rub against Bull. He stopped thinking, unable to hold in the sensation any longer. He was on edge all day – anticipating this moment, and now that it finally came, it was too much stimulation all at once. Too exhilarating for him to hold back, after spending the whole day at his limit.

Nym tried to plead one more time, whining into the kiss, even as his hips arched off the bed. “Mphf-aahn!” Bull finally released his mouth, just as he let out a long moan. His body shivered, rigid, as he grabbed onto Bull’s biceps to steady himself while he orgasmed.

Bull was breathing hard, although not as much as his lover, when he spoke in awe, “You really came just from a kiss.”

Nym’s eyes were teary as they stared up at the bigger man. He didn’t need to state the obvious when the elf was already ashamed enough to jump into a fade rift. He could feel the wetness of his released pleasure soaking his undergarments and staining his trousers. “T-that’s why I told you not to…,” he complained. _*I can’t believe I just came from a kiss like a flustered virgin. It’s all Bull’s fault for making me so high-strung for an entire day,*_ he grumbled in his mind.

Iron Bull grinned, not at all feeling apologetic. He slid Nym’s shirt the rest of the way from his shoulders, tossing it aside carelessly. Placing light kisses along the elf’s neck and collarbone, he played with the strings of his trousers, before opening them with one lazy pull.

Glad when his pants and smallclothes were pulled down and tossed out of the way, Nym felt a chill as the air brushed against his wet skin, but at least he wasn’t trapped inside that sticky mess that were his clothes anymore.

“You really made a mess of yourself,” the Tal-Vashoth breathed a chuckle, smirking at the sight in amusement. He dipped his head down and licked off some of the cum stuck to Nym’s thigh, enjoying how the muscles tensed under his ministrations.

“ _You’re_ the one who made a mess out of me,” the Inquisitor corrected, sounding breathless despite the slight irritated huff in his tone. Some of the heat was creeping back in as he watched Bull nibble on his inner thigh and hipbone.

A pleased rumble sounded deep in Bull’s chest at that remark, “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He licked the underside of Nym’s flaccid dick, from base to tip, keeping pressure on the hypersensitive skin. Attentively. Teasingly. And oh, so slowly.

The elf whimpered, “Haaa….,” then pressed his cheek against the warm furs on the bed.  He squeezed his eyes shut as Bull continued to lick his stained skin, trying to keep his mind from falling apart. Alas, it wasn’t working. His head was starting to spin, the blood rushing from his brain until his mind went blank.

He heard the resounding voice in Bull’s direction again as the other stopped and loomed over him. “Don’t lose it yet. We’re only getting started.” A strong hand pulled him up by his elbow and for a moment Nym felt as if he was floating through the air.

He was placed kneeling on the bed, his legs tucked under him and his hands resting on his thighs. Bull made him sit up with his back straight, knees slightly pulled apart. He had to wait patiently while listening at the rusting sounds behind him, made by the Tal-Vashoth. He couldn’t decipher all the noises, but he knew he wasn’t allowed to turn and look. Rustling of fabric again and Bull’s harness fell to the floor, the metal buckles clinking. Unbuckling of his belt came next, and Nym could recognize that sound even without turning to look Bull’s way.

His breath stopped for a second when he felt the bed shift under additional weight, Bull climbing on the mattress again, but remaining behind his back. He felt hot breath on his skin as Bull begun trailing rough, bruising kisses on his neck and shoulders. He exhaled loudly, pressing his head back against Bull’s chest. He knew he would have red and purplish marks there tomorrow, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about it now. Let him worry about concealing the traces later, when he wasn’t enthralled by Bull’s naked, solid body holding him from behind.

His hands were pulled behind his back and his forearms bent together. He expected to feel the thigh grip of Bull’s leather belt around them, but instead, a cold, silky feeling startled him. He recalled Bull saying something about getting ‘prepared’ for this night, so he must’ve brought some of his own articles with him. The silken sash tied his bent forearms together on his back until it was lightly arched.

“You remember your watchword?” Bull’s tone was low and calm, but there was no humor in his voice this time. He was serious about this question.

Nym nodded, then let the foreign word roll off his tongue slowly, “It’s Katoh.”

“Good.” In the next instant, his hands were all over Nym again.

The fingers of his mangled left hand trailed gently against the elf’s thigh, while his other hand rested on Nym’s chest. Surely he could clearly feel the strong beating of the younger’s racing heart, but even if he did, he didn’t comment on it. He let the elf lean against his broad chest, while his hand traveled up to his throat. It rested there, gingerly thumbing over the skin. He nuzzled Lavellan’s neck before showering the heating skin with kisses that gradually became rougher.

Nym gasped, his mind slowly turning into a muddled mess. His breath quickened, becoming shallow. Erect again, his cock begged to be touched. Yet Bull never moved further than his thigh, tauntingly caressing the inner part now. The other hand moved back to his chest, pinching a nipple and twisting it between his fingers, while he sucked over the elf’s artery.

Responding, Nym winced in need. Unconsciously, he started to shake his hips, wanting more contact there. Bull’s other hand moved to his chest too, rolling and massaging his nipples between calloused fingers. “Bull!” Nym let out a needy cry bordering with frustration. He was already breathless, dizzy from pleasure.

A deep chuckle resonated in the back of the Tal-Vashoth’s throat, and suddenly his hands disappeared from Nym’s skin. The elf gaped, shuddering at the loss. His body didn’t get a chance to cool down, before Bull’s hands were back on him, holding more of those silken sashes. Nym shivered as the soft material glided against his bare skin, caressing it.

“Feels good, right?” The Iron Bull spoke in a husky voice.

Lavellan simply nodded, leaning further into that broad chest. He could feel the steady beating of his heart, and the pleasant vibrations every time the man spoke. Bull’s hands were back on his thighs, massaging the muscles, before he encircled one sash around his thigh and the shin beneath it. He tied them together, tightening up the knot so Nym’s leg was trapped. The elf squirmed curiously, but was unable to break his leg free. Not that he was trying, in all honesty.

“Too tight?”

“No,” he whispered with a shake of his head.

Confirming Nymrodel was all right with it, the Tal-Vashoth tied another silken sash around his other leg in the same manner.

With his forearms tied behind his back, his knees bent and legs tied, he realized he was completely restrained; at Bull’s mercy. A fleeting thought passed him by - how easily Bull could crush him with his strong arms right now. Yet instead of feeling frightened, his trapped state made him feel excited.

His breath hitched in surprise when Bull turned his head by the chin and covered his mouth in a deep kiss. His giant hands stroked across Nym’s body – hips, stomach, over his ribs – and finally stopped at his chest again, returning to their previous task of mercilessly teasing his nipples. The elf groaned in the kiss, squirming more as his hips rolled into nothing. Bull didn’t let him escape though, still abusing his little mouth in a rough kiss, while playing with his hardened nipples.

Nymrodel could feel his sensitivity rising under Bull’s attention. Instead of recoiling from the touch, he leaned into the man more, enjoying the rougher contact. The other responded by pinching his nipple, earning a muffled yelp from the elf. He could feel his arousal intensifying. Desperate for any contact, he hungrily returned Bull’s kiss, but his impatient squirming didn’t cease. If only Bull would also touch his cock. It was straining and weeping with precum already.

Abruptly, Bull broke off the kiss and pushed him down onto his back. Their eyes locked together and the elf shivered at the dark lust he found there. He was completely exposed in his position – legs tied and spread wide open. His chest protruding and his abused nipples poking out. His dick was wet and twitching constantly, already rigid with need. The head was angry red, begging to be touched. Nym was taking in shallow breaths, his mind hazy with lust, but despite his lewd appearance, he couldn’t bring himself to care or feel ashamed. His mind was too glazed over with arousal at the moment.

Finally, Bull reached out and wrapped his thick fingers around Nym’s manhood. As soon as he felt the tightening grip, he screamed in pleasure, tipping his head backwards, “Aahn!” The other rubbed the head with his thumb, pushing down on the slit every now and then and rubbing the precum all over. He could only moan in ecstasy, thrusting his hips into that long-awaited touch. “Nnn!” His hips swayed as he tried to feel more contact with Bull’s hand, eagerly pushing into it.

Iron Bull chuckled, “I don’t even have to move my hand, you’re doing all the work. What a good boy.”

“Nh,” Nym only grunted in response. In any other occasion, he would detest being called that, yet now, it only kindled the flames within him. When Bull rubbed his thumb on the underside of the head, applying pressure there, he was practically keening. His legs opened wider, his hips shaking desperately as he slapped them against that large hand. He was ready to come just from this. Then Bull moved away, leaving him breathless and frustrated once more. “Nooo,” he groaned, wanting that hand back on him again.

“Be patient,” Bull’s voice came out a bit sterner than before, warning him to behave.

He trailed up kisses to his chest, sucking on a nipple leisurely and making the elf moan, before he suddenly bit down – hard enough to leave a mark.

“Ah!” Nym let out a startled sound, feeling the sting of Bull’s teeth.

As soon as Bull bit down, however, he apologetically licked over the spot until Nym could only feel a hot burning in that place. Bull’s lips moved downward, over his ribs and sides – then suddenly bit again, right above his hip bone. Nym let out a sharp gasp this time, jerking his hips in response. Once again, Bull simply licked and kissed over the angry red mark already forming on his pale skin. If he kept this up, Nym was going to be covered in bite and kiss marks all over his body. The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying, when he realized he would have to hide the marks over his clothes lest somebody notices them – how would he explain _that_?

Bull’s lips moved onto his inner thigh, and the elf shivered, feeling the prickly feeling of his unshaved patch against his sensitive skin. He struggled to look down at what Bull was doing, but it was hard to keep his head up in his position. When he felt Bull’s teeth on the tender skin of his inner thigh, a wince escaped him. The man sucked his flesh there, surely leaving a kiss mark, then gently bit down – enough to leave an imprint, but not fierce enough to draw blood.

Nymrodel’s heart was racing in thrill as Bull moved across his body. He would relax in his touch, only to flinch or yelp when Bull would suddenly bite down and take him by surprise. The startling pain was immediately replaced by a burning sensation when Bull would comfort the abused spot with his tongue and lips.

The mixture of pain and pleasure was slowly making Lavellan’s head spin, until he could hardly discern one from the other. Bull’s ministrations started to fill him with confusion about his own body; being uncontrollably hard even when the other was delivering pain.

He didn’t even notice as Bull pulled out a vial from the pocket of his discarded trousers. Still kissing the elf, he poured some on his finger and gently pressed it against Nym’s opening. Lavellan’s breath hitched and he flinched as he felt a finger circling his hole, slicking it up. 

“Stay relaxed,” Bull murmured against his skin before coming back up and kissing his lips again, while slowly pushing his finger in.

The feeling was strange at first, just like last time. Not painful, but uncomfortable as the foreign object penetrated him. He was still unused to having his deepest parts explored like this. He tried to relax his body, focusing on their kiss rather than the intruding, thick digit. Bull worked the finger in gently, pulling it out and deeper back in with every thrust. When he heard the elf whimper, he nipped at Nym’s tongue playfully to distract him.

Nym moaned in the kiss as he slowly got used to the finger inside of him. All too soon, the other pulled away, leaving a trail of saliva between them. He licked his already swollen lips from their previous make out session.

Iron Bull looked down at his elf. The red swollen lips, now lightly parted with Nym’s panting breath, were so inviting. Eyes that seemed liquid, glazed over with lust. The light blush on his cheeks, which spread all the way to the tips of those long, slender ears. He couldn’t resist but dip his head and go for that ear, nipping the tip before licking the outer part.

The elf squirmed, yet automatically tilted his head to the side nonetheless. “N-no, not the ears!” They were already sensitive from his arousal, and the torturous feeling was becoming too much to bear. His straining cock was leaking like a faucet, twitching from all the new sensations. Even though he already came once, the heat was back and driving him insane. 

The larger man ignored his pleas, dipping the tip of his tongue into the inner shell of the ear and rimming it. He worked his finger all the way into Nym’s ass and was now thrusting it in a steady rhythm, getting him used to the feeling. When he nibbled on the edge of the ear, he earned a shiver from the elf, “A-ah!” The Tal-Vashoth chuckled.

He hummed into the elf’s ear before whispering, clear enough so Nym could understand every word, “Your body is still inexperienced and untrained. But I’ll train it well. Until you can’t be satisfied by anyone else but me. Until you submit to me completely. I’ll carve every pleasure you can think of in this body of yours…and more.”

Nym groaned, his eyesight becoming unfocused. Bull’s words were enough to drive him up the wall, sending him ablaze with need. He wanted all of that. He wanted Bull to take him over and over until he becomes an obedient mess in his arms.

The Tal-Vashoth traveled down from Nym’s earlobe to his neck, sucking and nipping on the already-reddened skin there. He could feel the taut body relax under him, until he bit down on the skin like before. Not hard enough to be too painful, but enough to leave a bite-mark. A nice red mark that will be visible to everyone. He smirked against the skin, licking over the collarbone and making the elf shiver.

At the same time, he added another slick finger with the first, stretching out the elf more. His rhythm increased, scissoring the hole every now and then. Nym hissed at the stinging sensation, but then Bull’s fingers curled and plunged deep inside, right into his prostate.

“Aah!” The elf opened his thighs more, his hips swaying as Bull continued his steady pace, thrusting into that spot each time. “T-There!” Nym moaned again, crying out in thrill every time his prostate was stimulated.

Bull’s lips found his nipple again, sucking on it and nibbling, while rolling the other with his fingers. He switched between thrusting his fingers into Nym and scissoring them to prepare him better.

Soon, all discomfort was gone from Nym’s face and all that was left was a desperate need for more contact, his hips rocking as he tried to meet every thrust of Bull’s fingers. That’s when Bull scissored him again, mixing sensations of pain and pleasure. Nym winced in pain, squeezing his eyes shut, but kept himself from voicing any protests. He didn’t want Bull to stop, and he knew he needed to be thoroughly prepared for what was coming next.

The Tal-Vashoth slowed down, the two fingers stroking his innards gently until he gets used to the stretch. He clawed at his own forearms behind his back, desperate to hold onto the larger man, but unable to do so. It was frustrating, yet strangely exhilarating at the same time. It was as if he could only do what Iron Bull allowed him to and that submissive thought filled him with delight. He realized there was less sting from Bull’s actions now and as the other started hitting his prostate again, that numbing pleasure in his cock returned. It coursed through him with every plunge, leaving a bit more heat behind.

When he started panting in time with each thrust, Bull pulled his fingers out. “You’re ready,” came a hoarse voice, and the elf gazed up with unfocused eyes to see an expression of arousal across the man’s face. He loved the notion that Bull was enjoying this as much as he was.

A soft keen of excitement escaped him as he watched Bull stroke himself, covering his dick in clear liquid. The man held up his restrained legs and Nym kept that position, all of a sudden feeling exposed and open for Bull to do whatever he wanted.

He felt the head against his entrance, and his lips parted in a silent cry when the man started pushing himself inside. It wasn’t painful at first, since Bull stretched him beforehand. But the more it went in, the thicker it became, and he was starting to feel the sting of being stretched out even more than before. He let out a shaky breath, reminding himself to keep his breathing steady.

“How ya doin’ there, Nym?” Bull’s voice was breathless, his eye dark with desire, but he kept his movement excruciatingly slow. He would slide in inch by inch, then stop and wait for Nym to adjust before continuing.

“I’m…fine,” he responded, despite the grimace on his young features. He gripped his forearms behind him, stabbing his short nails into the skin.

“Just a bit more,” Bull comforted him, reassuringly massaging his milky thighs.

The elf breathed a chuckle though it sounded more like an impatient scoff. He knew it wasn’t just a ‘bit more’ – there was at least half of it more to go. “This isn’t…my first time with you, you know?” He reminded him, giving Bull a deadpan look the best he could muster in his situation.

The Tal-Vashoth smirked, pushing a little more of himself inside. He wrapped his hand around Nym’s cock and squeezed gently, giving him a few languid strokes.

“Nnn.” Pleasure instantly stirred in Nym’s body, taking some of the focus away from his pained insides. He screamed when Bull slid the rest of his dick in, before trying to regain his breath.

“You’re doing great,” Bull murmured, stopping his hips to give the elf some time. He leaned in and kissed Nym’s sweaty forehead, still rubbing his weeping manhood with his thumb.

Lavellan only moaned softly in return, feeling as if he was stretched to his limit. “So full,” he breathed out, feeling completely stuffed inside. “I still can’t believe your huge dick can fit all the way inside me…it’s crazy,” he breathed out between pants.

The other laughed, just as winded from the tight pleasure around his dick. “In truth, I wasn’t sure it’d work at first. But you keep surprising me. Your body’s pretty amazing.”

Bull’s hand moved from his cock to his stomach, and rubbed there for comfort. Nym could feel the large dick inside him, all the way underneath that caressing hand. Both his manhood and hole twitched at the dirty thought, and he moaned again.

Experimentally rolling his hips, Bull kept his thrusts shallow and unhurried. He massaged the elf’s body, his warm hands traveling all cross the flushed skin, until they settled over the slender hips. He changed his angle, and the Dalish let out a shaky breath at his next thrust.

Nym’s toes curled as Bull hit into the right spot, creating that familiar tense feeling that always spread through him. “Ah! Haa...” A cry came from his parted lips. The other picked up the pace a little, plunging into him faster and harder now. Closing his eyes, he started to lose himself in the pleasurable pressure Bull was drowning him in.    

He moaned louder, all discomfort forgotten. Eyes still tightly shut, furrowing his eyebrows every time he was impaled on that large dick right in his prostate. He could feel his insides being rubbed continuously, his walls hot and slick, awaiting Bull’s every thrust.

“Enjoying yourself?” Bull’s voice broke through to him sounding breathless and forced out between grunts.

He opened his dimed blue eyes to stare up at his lover. “I never knew before…that sex feels this good,” the elf admitted between pants and moans. It has become essential to him – like food and water. Now that he knew how amazing sex with Bull felt, he never wanted to let it go. Let _this_ go, whatever it is they had.

Those words pierced right through the other man and he let out a growl as fire stirring deep inside his abdomen. “You really know how to fire up a man, even if you’re not doing it on purpose.” He slammed himself into the elf, quickening his harsh pace. His strong fingers bit into Nym’s hips enough to leave bruises, as he pulled them onto his every thrust.

“A-Ah! Aah!” Tears of pleasure formed in Nym’s eyes as he was taken roughly, with the ex-Qunari slamming into him. That place deep inside him was perfectly stimulated, the fast pace never giving him enough time to recuperate from his high. With every shove, he was brought closer to the finish line, the pressure in his groin becoming unbearable. “Aah! Oh, Creators…So deep!” He was screaming in pleasure as Bull plunged every inch of himself deep inside. So focused on how good this felt, he didn’t even need any more stimulation to come. “B-Bull, elvar’el! Sathan!”

The warrior grit his teeth, grunting in harmony with Nym’s pleading moans. “There you go again with the elven. If you wanna ask me for something, you better say it in Common, little guy.”

The Dalish, however, wasn’t even aware he switched to his native tongue. He could barely even register what Iron Bull was saying to him. All he could do was feel the intensifying pressure in his groin, ready to burst. He squirmed against his restraints, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Nym’s screams mixed together with Bull’s groans and bounced off the bedroom walls, filling the room with lascivious sounds of sex. Wet sounds of slapping flesh intensified, while the bed creaked under them, the bedpost slamming against the stone wall every time Bull pushed forward.

He couldn’t take it anymore. “Ah! Come…coming! I’m-!” His vision blurred as the sensation of his orgasm shook him. A numbing pleasure washed over him, shaking his body with a violent shudder. Toes curling, his lips parted in a wordless cry as he came, staining both of their stomachs.

Bull was only a breath away from his own orgasm, and when Nym’s walls clenched around him in a squeezing heat, he too couldn’t last any longer. “Fuck!” With a long grunt, he spilled his cum into the small body trembling beneath him.

They both stilled, trying to catch their breaths. Bull was careful not to crush the little body underneath him as he slid out of him slowly, earning a soft whine from the elf. Surprisingly deftly he untied the sashes binding Nymrodel’s legs and arms, and the other contently sighed when he was released.

“You alright?” He asked, smiling at the elf.

 Nymrodel gave him a tired, toothy grin in response. “Never better,” he joked with a hoarse voice. His body was completely limp, no muscle currently functioning. He might regret Bull’s hard pace tomorrow when the ache in his hips and back settles in, but at the moment, he was perfectly satisfied.

The mattress dented as Bull sprawled himself on his back beside him. “We gotta do something about you switching to elven whenever we’re doin’ it. I can’t understand a word you’re sayin’ to me.” He kept his smile as he turned to face the elf. He had to angle his torso up a bit, so his horns weren’t in the way.

The Dalish gave him a sheepish smile in return, “I’m not really aware of it, it just happens.” He blinked a few times, struggling to keep his eyes open. As exhausted as he was, he didn’t want to fall asleep yet. He felt like it would all disappear if he fell asleep, and once again he would wake up alone in his oversized bed. So he wanted to hold on to this moment a little while longer.

The former Ben-Hassrath noticed Lavellan dozing off, of course, even as he tried hard not to close his eyes. He placed a hand on Nym’s cheek, brushing away some of the more unruly strands of his short hair. The soft snowy hair was wet with sweat, sticking to his forehead. “You can asleep if you want. No need to force yourself to stay awake.”

The elf nuzzled into that large, warm hand. Bull was always exuding so much heat; just like the large Hart of his Clan, Lillin, who Nym used to cuddle with during cold winter nights. “Will you leave again, like last time?” He tried not to sound accusing or desperate as he asked.

The silence that enveloped them made him awkwardly shift between the sheaths as he instantly regretted his question. His gaze fell from Bull and directed to the side, trying to keep his focus on some random smudge on the wall as if it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the room.

A deep sigh caught his attention and he stiffened when Bull moved, sure that the Tal-Vashoth was about to leave. Nym bit his lip, stopping himself before he could make the situation worse by clumsily asking Bull to stay. If the other didn’t want to then-

His thoughts were cut off when two big hands enveloped him and brought him closer to the large grey body, wrapping themselves around his lean form. The man dragged him until he was made to lie at Bull’s side, resting his head on a large bicep. He blinked up at the man in wonder, his expression betraying his bewilderment.

“If you want me to stay, I’ll stay,” the large warrior simply stated like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Nym could only hope he was suppressing the giddy feeling bubbling inside of him before a goofy grin spreads on his face.

“But we should really take care of you,” Bull added, his free hand sliding down to the elf’s hip.

Nym understood what he meant. He rubbed his bare legs against each other, feeling the thick liquid dripping down his inner thigh. It was now cool and sticky, making him shudder at the uncomfortable feeling. Nevertheless, he dreaded losing this warmth Bull was enveloping him in. He didn’t want to break this comfort just yet. “In a minute,” he mumbled, snuggling closer to the ‘living furnace’ next to him.

Even now, it all felt surreal – the fact that he entered a relationship with the Iron Bull. It was still quite undefined and Nym wasn’t sure how Bull felt about any of this – except evidently enjoying the sex – but it was slowly waning on him. There was a connection between them that they couldn’t ignore and their friendship definitely evolved into something more; he doubted he could return to just being friends after all this.

He was reminded of an old elven phrase Solas recently taught him; _Then'ara'sal'in_ \- the intense feeling of contentment and comfort one feels when they spend time with a beloved friend or loved one. As Nymrodel lay in Bull’s safe arms, he couldn’t explain this warm feeling inside of him in any other way than then'ara'sal'in.

Deep in thought, he absentmindedly traced Bull’s numerous scars on his chest. The tremble of that chest as the man spoke, brought him back to reality. “So the scars are a big turn-on for you too?” He flashed the elf a teasing grin.

Nym blushed in light pink, but he neither confirmed nor denied it. Instead, he traced a particularly large one across Bull’s shoulder, feeling the different texture of skin there. “There’s so many of them,” he commented in awe, wondering how the large warrior managed to survive all this. Each of those scars represented a moment when Bull got hurt, sometimes being close to death from the given injury.

The man laughed, unfazed by his scarred body. “Each of these tells a story of how I cheated Death. I’d say they show what a lucky bastard I am,” he grinned. “Sides, chicks dig scars…most of them are Qunari women, but still…,” he trailed off in a joking manner, shrugging.

Rolling his eyes, Lavellan scoffed, even as his lips pulled into a small smile. That’s when he noticed one scar traveling just above the stomach. He trailed it with his finger while in thought, “How’d you get this one?”

Bull hummed, staring at the scar and trying to remember the fight that transpired – it was so long ago now. “Ah, that...that was one of the shittier situations I’ve been in. Back in Seheron, I fell on a guy who tried to stab me in the gut. I felt the blade chip as it went through my gut and hit my  _back_  ribs. But I was alive, and on top. I sawed through the armour on the rebel's neck, back and forth, until it went red,” he reminisced, his eye gazing somewhere in the distance, trying to catch the memories of a past that felt like a lifetime ago. For him, that _was_ another life, completely different from the one he was leading now. His past self probably wouldn’t be able to recognize him now. A part of him wondered what young Hissrad would think of him, but he quickly shunned that thought away after the sour feeling it left in his gut. He already knew; young Hissrad would have cut him down without hesitation for being Tal-Vashoth.  

 The other could only listen with eyes open wide, jaw slack as he remained too stumped for words. “Damn…,” he commented, unable to say anything cleverer to that.

“I know; not really pillow-talk material,” the warrior snorted.

Nymrodel quickly shook his head, “No, it’s not that. I’m just surprised by everything you’ve been through. I don’t think I would’ve lasted a _year_ in Seheron, and you were there for almost a decade.”

The former Qunari snickered with mirth. “A lot could say the same thing about all the crap you’ve been through. Give yourself more credit.”

He hummed, uninterested to even think about all the haunting experiences he had since the Conclave exploded. When he reminisced back on it, it felt ages ago, but the memories where he feared for his life or the lives of others were still achingly fresh in his mind. He must’ve scowled because Bull instantly noticed the change in his demeanor and pulled him closer.

 “No can do. No thinking about any Inquisitor crap while we’re here. You’re supposed to be relaxing,” he reminded him in a stern tone.

The elf nodded firmly. “You’re right.”

“Else I’ll need to exhaust you until you can’t think of _anything_ anymore,” Bull added with a mischievous smirk, his voice taking up a more suggestive tone.

Nym flushed as he felt a pang of heat prickle inside him, resisting the urge to follow Bull’s lead and take him up on that offer then and there. He had to remind himself there will be other opportunities, because right now Lavellan felt too spent for another round. 

Besides, there was something else that was constantly on his mind ever since he met the Qunari. He tracked the hard horns on Bull’s head with his gaze, an interested glint in his eyes. Every time Bull moved his head, Nym’s ice-blue eyes followed. Without thinking, he reached out and stroked the sturdy material of Qunari horns, feeling the irregular texture beneath his palm. “I knew it…It feels like ironbark,” he grinned victoriously. He just won a bet against Scout Harding, though he’ll have to fib on the details how exactly he managed to get to Bull’s horns. Hearing the Tal-Vashoth chuckle, he remembered himself and swiftly pulled away in embarrassment when their eyes met and he noticed Bull’s amused stare. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. “S-sorry…I just always wanted to know what they felt like.”

The Tal-Vashoth roared in laughter, looking rather proud of himself. “I know! Who wouldn’t want to have a rack like this, right?!” With such a brazen grin on his features, Nym didn’t have the heart to tell him he just wanted to know for a bet and never actually desired to have horns of his own. They looked cool, but rather impractical – especially for a rogue who needed to move inconspicuously a lot. And Bull couldn’t even lie on his side with his _rack_.

Yet the Iron Bull pulled the look off. Especially that one time when he impaled a guy on them. “I’ll admit they look magnificent on _you_ ,” he smirked, lightheartedly teasing him.

“Oooh, “ _magnificent,”_ is it?” Bull laughed, rolling on top of the other with a wide grin. He put a bit more weight on him, though mindful not to crush the lithe elf for real.

The younger man laughed as the giant nuzzled his neck and trailed tickling kisses down his throat. “You’re crushing me,” he complained through his laughter, fully aware Bull hadn’t placed even a third of his weight on him. He wouldn’t be able to breathe if he had.

“This is actually a pretty nice position to sleep in,” the larger man purred, messing with the elf as he refused to move.

“Oh, come oooon,” Nymrodel whined, still laughing as he unsuccessfully tried pushing the man off of him. “It’s getting hot,” he complained again while snickering. He was trapped between Bull’s warm body and the soft furs on the bed.

“Why thank you,” the Tal-Vashoth nonchalantly responded.

“Not what I meant,” the elf exclaimed while rolling his eyes, even as he continued to squirm and laugh at the same time. “Get off,” he chuckled.

“Oh, I will, just gimmie me a sec.” Bull continued to play on the double meaning of his words.

“Only a second? That’s just sad,” Lavellan teased, deciding to join in. If you can’t beat them…

As their joined laughter and bickering filled the room, Nym truly forgot all about his troubles for at least a moment.

* * *

 

Glossary:

_elvar’el_ \- harder

_sathan_ \- please

_then'ara'sal'in_ \- The intense feeling of contentment and comfort one feels when they spend time with a beloved friend or loved one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the two of them just goofing around in bed in the end scene is my favorite part. I live for those silly little moments! :D And I’m also pretty excited for the whole Adamant Arc (Ugh, the Nightmare!) I hope you liked the chapter! Don’t hesitate to comment on what you think about the story so far, and thank you all for your wonderful comments and kudos! ^^


	24. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I was able to post this! Sorry I’m late, guys. I did finish writing this chapter in November, but I had to proofread it and it has 59 pages in Word. :’) Also, life got in the way a lot…I do hope you enjoy the chapter! (And sorry if there are still some mistakes, a got tired a lot X)
> 
> Happy Holidays to everyone!  

 

 

Adamant fortress loomed over the dark desert ominously, its ancient walls standing on the very edge of the Abyssal Rift. The dwarven architecture was constructed of impregnable fortifications, decorated with metal spikes that reminded of dragon teeth and menacing winged statues that glared at the invaders.

The building stood in the darkness that stretched over the cold desert sands – old and foreboding. The usually bright starry sky was covered by thick clouds on this moonless night. A rumbling of thunder echoed in the distance as a storm approached. Inside the fortress was eerily quiet, barely lit by a few torches – nobody knew what was truly happening there.

Outside, however, Adamant’s walls were illuminated by thousand firelights coming from the awaiting army. Catapults stood at the ready, while an army of soldiers waited in squadrons for a single word that would signal the attack. Behind them, tents of the Inquisition forces spread across the sands like a sea of red, one of which belonged to the army’s High Command.

In there, Commander Cullen and the Inquisitor planned the pinnacle of their attack together with Hawke and Stroud.

“Once we’re inside, find Clarel as soon as possible. If we can persuade her to stop, we can end this madness,” Stroud told Lavellan as they loomed over an old tattered map of Adamant they procured from the dwarven Shaperate.

Hawke gave him a knowing stare, “And if we can’t persuade her?”

The Warden’s hands clenched into fists by his side. “Then we do whatever is necessary to stop the Grey Wardens…” A heavy weight was entangled in his words, but he knew what needed to be done. They couldn’t allow the Wardens to make this demon army for Corypheus.

“We won’t harm those Wardens who surrender. Maybe we can make them see reason…at least the warriors,” Cullen added, sounding hopeful.

“Yes. I fear the Warden Mages are already under Corypheus’ power,” Nymrodel sighed sadly.

The former Templar pushed off the table and the large map of the Adamant Fortress placed on it. It was filled with pins, markers and sketches with various pathways through. In their weeks of preparation, Nymrodel had to memorize all of the blueprints perfectly to know how to navigate the aged building. He only hoped the old map drawn by the dwarven architects still depicted the insides of Adamant correctly. 

“I think we did all we could to prepare,” Cullen started. “Just give the word, Inquisitor, and we can start the attack.”

Giving him a nod of understanding, Nym dismissed the meeting. He stepped out of the tent, taking a deep breath. The air wasn’t cold and dry as it usually was in the Western Approach. He could feel the humidity in it, with the pressure rising from the incoming storm. Soundless lightning flashed in the distance every once in a while, searing through the darkness. 

The Inquisitor could feel his nerves grating on him, filling him with both dread and impatience. Soon all anxiety will disappear with the beginning of their attack, and his body will be filled with adrenaline instead, numbing him from all other feelings or misgivings. But for now, he was sharply aware of the tension in his body - the notion of possible death, the fear of losing his people, the dread of what they might find inside the fortress – it all took a toll on him.

Soft murmurs brought his attention to the side and he saw a group of soldiers kneeling around in a circle, praying. They were reciting the Chant of Light, led by the former Templar Lysette.  He watched them repeat words after her; Maker’s words he didn’t know despite them calling him the Herald of Andraste.

Two heavy hands rested on his shoulders and Nym flinched for a moment, his back tensing. Yet he quickly relaxed at the familiar large hands on him, and when he looked up, he already knew who he would see. Iron Bull watched him with a steady gaze, strangely relaxed for someone who is about to storm a fort.

“You ready, Boss?”

Nym exhaled slowly. “Almost. How can you be so relaxed on the eve of battle?”

Bull shrugged, “Experience.”

The elf bit his lip in thought. He’s been in fights before, even attacking fortresses, but nothing this big. This felt different than any other battle he’s been a part of so far – this truly felt like marching to war. And the worst part was; he lacked the vast experience Bull or Cullen had, even though he was their leader. But just as that thought started pulling him down, he remembered; he might be the Inquisitor, but they were a team. He wasn’t alone in this, because his whole inner circle was here, supporting him and adding to the troops’ power. He had all of their strengths and experience with him. If nothing else, that alone provided him some comfort.

Bull watched the same scene Nym did moments ago while the soldiers slowly finished their prayers. “What about you? Don’t you have those elven gods your people pray to?”

Nym’s gaze awkwardly fell to the ground at that. He didn’t even know if the Evanuris could hear his prayers. He hummed, “I do pray to them, but I don’t really expect that to solve all my problems. I mean…I think it can help you get the strength and confidence you need to act, but in the end, you’re the one who needs to do something about it. If there is a sword coming towards me, I won’t just drop to my knees and pray for Elgar’nan to save me, I’ll dodge and fight. And if I fight well, perhaps Elgar’nan will deem me worthy and give me that sliver of strength when I need it most. That extra push or a bit of luck, that can turn the tables on my enemy.” He looked up at the Tal-Vashoth again, “Does that make sense?”

“Sure. Personally though, I prefer to trust in my arm and good steel,” Bull grinned.

The elf snickered. Yep, that sounded like the Iron Bull he came to know so well.

Speaking of good steel…

He remembered the two new dual daggers Dagna had given him before leaving Skyhold. She called him to the Undercroft and presented him with two sheathed blades, grinning all the while with her freckles dancing beneath those excited green eyes.

“I finally finished them. I used the bones of that dragon you killed in the Western Approach. And put a little extra on them,” she had said, winking at him.

He took one of the hilts; a burgundy color with little notches on the handle to make it easier to hold. The blade hissed at it glided against the sheath with ease as he pulled it out. He gasped, lost for words at the cutting beauty reflecting his wide eyes. It was a single-blade dagger, straight, but consisting of a set of smaller blades near the handle that branched from each side like horns. The blade’s edges were uneven, creating a shape that reminded him of burning fire. But perhaps the most peculiar thing about this blade was the gentle green glow that it emitted, similar to his Anchor.

“Why is it glowing?”

His question was answered by a wider grin. “Well, since I know you’re off slaying demons, I took the liberty of enchanting the dagger…with a demon-slaying rune! How cool is that, huh!?”

Nym blinked, “Demon-slaying rune?”

“Yep! Much like magebane, the rune emits a power that weakens the demons. Now try the other one!” She urged him to unsheathe his other new dagger.

He noticed that the sheath for this one was irregular in shape. He grabbed the hilt and pulled it out, instantly noticing that it was heavier than what he was used to. Once again, he gaped in astonishment. It was a dual-blade dagger, made from dragon bone. It had a slightly curved shape and a smaller blade after its handle.

“Try sliding the other dagger against it,” the Arcanist suggested, still smiling cryptically.

He raised one eyebrow in question, but did as he was told. Nym slid the metallic dagger against the other, enjoying the smooth tune it created. As he did, it was as if a spark ignited on the dragon bone and the main blade burst into flames.

The elf gasped with a start, almost letting go of the weapon in his surprise. “It’s on fire!” He caught himself right away, _*Way to state the obvious, Nym.*_ Yet even as the flames burned on the dragon-blade, they never scorched his hand.

Dagna laughed, or rather, giggled. “Everybody always wants fire for their first enchantment,” she confidently stated. “They might need some getting used to, but I figured you’d have plenty of time on your trip to Adamant. Since I can’t be of help to you on the battlefield, this is my way of contributing…also, you’re paying me _a lot_.” She smiled at him with pride.

After that, he practiced with his new weapons any chance he got while they were traveling to the Western Approach and across the vast deserts. He trained until he was so used to their shape and weight, it felt like they were an extension of his hand. 

He was brought back by a large hand squeezing his shoulder. “You ready, Boss?”

Zoning out for a moment, lost in his memories, he forgot he was in the middle of a conversation with the warrior. Bull brought his attention back to reality, and he sighed deeply as he observed his surroundings – it was time.

Nymrodel turned back to face the Tal-Vashoth. He was armored much more heavily than usual, when traversing the South on their missions. There was even a Qunari helmet tucked beneath his arm, which depicted a skull of a ram, and in all honestly, looked terrifying – Nym guessed that was on purpose.  

Bull gave him a quizzical look as he stayed silent. Instead, he glanced around the area; everyone were too busy dealing with the preparations to even notice them. He grabbed onto Bull’s armor and pulled down askingly, lifting himself onto his toes. Bull followed the small tug until he was close enough for Nym to kiss. The kiss was chaste and only lasted a few seconds so no one would witness them. When Nym pulled away, he was smirking. “For luck,” he explained.

Iron Bull gave him that sideways grin, an enthusiastic twinkle in his eye – excited by the prospect of a good fight that awaited him, no doubt. “You don’t need luck, Boss…,” he started, putting his helmet on. His next words were enveloped in a muffled echo as he spoke, “You have me.” Even though Nym couldn’t see his face, he just knew the man was grinning behind that helmet.

~…..~

Everything was quiet, as if the world itself knew this was the eve of battle. Not a breath was heard when Nymrodel finally nodded to the Commander, and the man pulled out his sword. The metal rang dangerously as it slid from the scabbard. He raised the blade high towards the night sky.

“Inquisition! Attaaaack!”

On Cullen’s order, the trebuchets were let loose, sending flaming boulders flying towards the bastion. The first of the armored troops marched forward, shields raised above their heads to protect themselves from the falling rocks and flying arrows. A large battering ram on wheels was pushed towards the giant gates, while dozens of soldiers carrying high ladders for the battlements walked next to it. 

The Inquisition army roared in harmony, swallowed by adrenaline and feeding off of each other’s courage. The Mages cast their spells, sending barrage of energy flying towards the archers on the battlements. In response, the Wardens tossed down giant boulders towards the troops pushing the battering ram. Their archers set arrows loose at the mages, who used barriers to protect themselves. Not all managed it in time, and dozens of arrows mowed down the robed spellcasters and unfortunate soldiers who got hit in the unarmored gaps.

The ram bashed against the massive, iron gates. It created a thundering sound while the very ground shook at each impact. The Inquisition troops kept their shields up to protect themselves from the arrows, while pushing the siege equipment with all their might towards the doors. On the bulwarks, Wardens poured giant cauldrons of sizzling oil onto their aggressors. The burning liquid spilled over the shields and onto the men holding them, seeping beneath their armor and burning their skin. Some shrieked in pain, letting go of their shields in a state of panic. As soon as they did, an arrow from above lodged itself into their head or neck, killing them instantly. Even so, the soldiers were only replaced by new ones as they continued to smash the battering ram against the gates.

After a first few tries, the gates creaked loudly, the metal denting a little. Then a few more and hinges started cracking, popping out like seems on a torn shirt. One final slam of the ram and the gates burst open, one of the wings collapsing to the ground and squashing the unfortunate soldiers trying to hold it from the other side.

The Inquisition troops roared as the fort’s main defenses fell, charging into the courtyard and slaying everyone in their way. Their eyes were filled with bloodthirst as they proceeded inwards, like a wave of carnage drowning everything it swept across.

Soon, the fighting spread throughout the fortress – Grey Wardens and demons battling on the same side against the Inquisition soldiers. The sounds of battle carried for miles in all directions, across the sandy dunes, until they were swallowed by the dark horizon.  

Among the chaos, Nymrodel and his company cut through their enemies. Some of his inner circle spread out to help the soldiers on the battlements, or push forward with the Inquisition’s main force, while others stayed by the Inquisitor’s side. Their aim was to find one person; Warden-Commander Clarel.

Lavellan danced with his new dual daggers – a dance of blood and death. He cut through a Warden mage before the other could finish his spell, then jumped to dodge an arrow before tossing a throwing knife from his sleeve at another enemy, piercing their exposed throat.

A blast of magical energy hit his shoulder and the blow spun him around, casting him down to one knee. He took that moment to regain his breath, panting hard from the sudden shock. Everything around him was pandemonium. Screams of death cut through the night, followed by more sounds of clashing steel. Bursts of explosions shook the fortress as catapults continued to send flaming boulders into the fortifications. Demons roared in pure emotion they represented, swallowing everyone around them; controlled by mages who cast their magic in a form of destruction. Then, in the next moment, all noise disappeared. All Nymrodel could hear were his own shallow breaths, as the sounds of battle around him muffled. For just a moment, all he was focused on was his own mind and body. Everything around him moved as in slow motion.

But the fight around him continued, despite his state of mind. And he knew that. New enemies charged at him from behind. He took one final breath of rest, then returned to the world. Everything came back; the sound of battle raged around him once more as he was back on the Adamant battlements. He stood back on his feet and turned around, just in time to slice the throat of his first attacker who ran up from behind. He pushed him aside, blocked the sword of another Warden and stabbed him in the stomach.

His eyes met with the mage who struck him before, but before he could get to her, a bolt of lightning pierced her chest, electrifying her on the spot, before continuing on its path through the soldiers. It pierced three more Wardens before dispersing. Nym’s eyes widened in surprise and he searched around for its originator, before his gaze stopped on a human apostate.

“Hawke,” he exclaimed. He finally found the mage on the battlements.

Hawke slammed his staff into one of the Wardens, pushing him off the bulwarks, before aiming his hand towards a Shade demon and freezing it. He spun his staff around, collecting more force into the swing, before crushing the frozen demon with it.  “Nice of you to finally join us,” he grinned at the Inquisitor when he finally managed to stop and catch his breath.

“We’ve been a little preoccupied.” Nym gave him a mordant stare as he threw a dagger at a charging Warden without even looking at his target. The dagger pierced into the man’s leather chestplate, and he toppled onto his back. 

Cole appeared close by, crouched next to a Warden rogue. He slashed at the man’s legs, before standing up behind him and finishing the job by stabbing him in the back.

On the other side, Iron Bull prepared his axe as he saw a large Warden warrior running towards them. Instead of going for a block, he stepped in and swept at the man’s legs with his axe.  The weapon cut through the warrior’s shins like paper, causing the man to fall face-first to the ground, screaming in agony. One final swing with his axe to the back of the warrior’s helmet, and the screams stopped forever.

“Wardens, lay down your arms! You do not need to do this!” Stroud yelled at some of the remaining Wardens on the battlements.

The Grey Warden warriors glanced at each other as if having a mental discussion before dropping their weapons.

Nymrodel sighed in relief, “So some can still be turned.”

“Not all Wardens have stood against us in this battle. Maker willing, we may be able to reason with Clarel,” Stroud told them.

“We need to push further in if we want to get to Clarel.” Hawke walked over to them now that they had a small window of peace to gather their strength.

“The Wardens keep pulling back. They’re not tryin’ to defend the fortress,” Bull noticed. With his experience, he could see it in their movement. Their aim wasn’t to push the Inquisition out of Adamant, but only to hold it off and buy more time – but for what purpose?

“The ritual,” Nymrodel realized. “They’re just trying to buy enough time until the ritual is complete. That is their only goal here.”

“Then we better hurry and stop them before it’s too late,” Varric noted, getting Bianca ready for another round of fighting.

“I agree. Whatever this ritual entails, it can’t be good. We need to stop these fools before it’s too late,” Dorian agreed.

“Then less taking an’ more hitting!” Bull grinned, clutching his large axe with both hands.

Nym could see Vivienne and Blackwall fighting not far from them, but they didn’t have time for a detour. From the looks of it, they could handle themselves anyway. Vivienne was creating walls of ice and freezing everyone in her sight, while Blackwall took that opportunity to shatter each frozen statue she created. Solas and the rest must’ve also been fighting nearby, and he could just hope that they were holding their own against the Wardens. Bull’s Chargers were somewhere on the battlefield too, helping the Inquisition’s main force. However, he had no time to check on any of them.

Instead, Nym nodded to his group, “Let’s go.”

~…..~

 “Don’t do this, Clarel! This ritual isn’t what you think! It’s all Erimond’s trap!” Nymrodel shouted as soon as they arrived at the ritual site.

In front of them, a torn Veil of an unopened rift shifted through the air. Bodies of Wardens laid scattered on the ground, their blood pooling towards the spot right beneath the glowing tear. They could see Clarel and Erimond up on the platform, slicing the throats of good men and women who were deluded by the Venatori Magister.

“Ha! Don’t be ridiculous, Inquisitor! All I want is to fight the Blight and keep the World safe from Darkspawn,” the Tevinter shouted back, still feigning innocence. “And yes, ritual requires blood sacrifice. Hate me for that if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty!”

Lavellan snarled in anger. Livius was stroking the Wardens’ ego with his words, mockingly pretending to stand in defense of them.

“We make the sacrifices no one else will. Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them,” Warden-Commander joined in. It seemed Erimond’s words hardened her resolve.

But Stroud was also done standing on the sidelines. “And then your Tevinter ally binds your mages to Corypheus!”

Clarel was taken aback by his words, “Corypheus? But he’s dead.” Meanwhile, Erimond continued to whisper in her ear, like the snake he was.

She stared at the Inquisitor and he shook his head at her, silently pleading her not to go through with this. Alas, she believed it was far too late to stop her plans – it needed to be done. “Bring it through.”

“No!” Nymrodel screamed, his piercing gaze burning into Clarel. He was enraged at her, watching the Warden mages sacrifice their very spirits to connect with the fade rift.

“That damned fool of a woman!” Dorian cursed in Tevene beside him.

His group stepped closer, only to be cut off in their path by the Grey Warden soldiers. They weren’t going to let them interfere with the ritual.

Hawke’s typical humorous disposition was completely gone now. “Please, I have seen more than my share of blood magic! It’s never worth the cost!” A pained glint reflected in his deep blue eyes.

Stroud joined him, “I trained half of you myself! Do not make me kill you to stop this madness!”

A screech came from inside the rift and something shifted on the other side, stirring. A giant form sluggishly began to inch its way through the Veil.

Lavellan knew they didn’t have much time left before the Veil tears completely and the demon on the other side crosses into their world. His distraught look fell back on the Wardens still blocking their path; they appeared uncertain, even as they held their weapons raised. Perhaps they could still be swayed, just like the few others they encountered during the battle. A lot of the Wardens decided to surrender to the Inquisition rather than fight for this cause, so maybe there were some here who felt the same. 

“Listen to me!” the Inquisitor started, bringing their attention onto himself. He didn’t want any more bloodshed, no matter how furious he was at the Warden-Commander. Surprising everyone, he lowered his dual daggers to his sides, indicating he wasn’t a threat. Nym read about the Grey Wardens and their history. As a child, he heard stories of them and considered them heroes. Creators, he still does! Warden Garahel was an inspiration to all elves, an elf who united Thedas and stopped the Fourth Blight – he was a hero that every elven child aspired to be, including the Dalish. Nym used to get in arguments with his brother and the other boys in the clan about who gets to be Garahel when they played. What would the great elven hero think now if he saw his brethren like this? “The Grey Wardens have a proud history! You stopped the Blight at the Silent Plains. At Starkhaven…and Hunter Fell. At Ayesleigh…and Denerim. This World owes you a debt it can never repay. I would not stand against you if I did not _know_ you were being misused!

Even if the Wardens haven’t been wavering before, they were certainly rethinking their decisions now. The warriors glanced up at Clarel, wordlessly asking for her choice. In the end, it was all up to the Warden-Commander. 

Nym bit his lip in anticipation, hard enough to make it bleed. He didn’t want this senseless war to continue and he wanted them all to know that. “Clarel,” he called out to her, piercing her directly with his pleading stare. “Enough blood has been spilled this night.”

The woman looked just as indecisive as the rest of them. She glanced at Erimond as if hoping to get an answer from him. Not a good choice for advisor.

The Tevinter narrowed his eyes. He could see he was slowly losing her. “Clarel, we have come so far.” He purposely chose the word ‘ _we’_ as if he was one of them. On their side. “You’re the only one who can do this,” he pressed.

Yet Clarel didn’t appear as confident as before. “Perhaps we could test the truth of these chargers, to avoid more bloodshed.”

A spark of hope flickered in Nym and he took a small, shaky breath, relieved that Clarel has finally seen reason. Perhaps the situation could still be salvaged. Nobody else needed to die.

He was too naïve. In an instant, his hopes for any peaceful solution were crushed when Erimond’s entire demeanor changed. The understanding act from earlier disappeared as he glared at the Warden-Commander, gripping his staff tighter in anger. “Or perhaps I should bring in a more reliable ally.” He tapped the end of his staff on the stony ground, summoning a mysterious magic around them. “My Master thought you might come here, Inquisitor! He sent me _this_ to welcome you!” As the hollow thudding of his staff continued, an ear-piercing shriek spread throughout the sky.

Nymrodel flinched at the sound, a chill seeping into his bones. Almost warily, he gazed up at the dark sky to see none other than the Archdemon circling over Adamant. To think he actually believed this could all end right here and now. He should’ve known it wouldn’t be so easy.

“Oh, fuck,” Bull murmured as they stared up at the winged monster above them.

The Archdemon swooped down, sowing fire and destruction in its path. The group ran for cover, jumping to the side before the corrupted fires of the Archdemon consumed them. The dragon circled once more, before landing on one of the towers like a raven perched upon a gravestone; dark and ominous. It roared, as if announcing its presence to the whole fortress.

Clarel, despite being intimidated by the sight, didn’t freeze. Defiantly, she summoned her magic and sent a blast of power towards the Archdemon. The beast jerked its head in her direction and viciously hissed at her.

“I think that just made it angrier,” Varric commented, keeping a safe distance from the creature.

Leaving the Archdemon to take care of the Inquisition, Erimond decided his best course of action was to run away, and of course, the Warden-Commander pursued. She shouted a quick “Help the Inquisitor” towards her subordinates, before chasing after the Magister.

“For Elgar’nan’s sake, why can nothing in this line of work ever be easy!” Lavellan cursed in frustration as he struggled back to his feet, watching Clarel and Erimond disappear around the corner.

All that magic tore at the already-thin Veil and the fade rift above them opened completely. Demons started pouring out of them with a giant Pride demon taking the lead.

“Oh, marvelous! An Archdemon behind our backs and a Pride demon in front,” Dorian commented in the most sarcastic tone he could muster. He grimaced at their situation, knowing full well they were in a tight spot.

“Hey, at least it can’t get any worse than this,” Hawke shrugged, spinning his staff until the crystal at the top lit up in a dark red color.

Nym slid his dual daggers together, calling forth the power of their runes. His Anchor crackled, bursting into a bright glow because of the activated rift.

“Trust me, it can _always_ get worse,” his dwarven friend reminded him.

“I don’t like the Archdemon’s song…it hurts my mind,” Cole complained.

“I think that’s the least of our problems, kid,” Bull muttered, slashing into a Shade demon and cutting it in two. The demon roared, turning into a puddle of black goo beneath his feet.

A cry filled with abandon came from the Grey Wardens before they charged at the Pride demon. The gigantic monster only laughed in response, sweeping one electrified hand across the ritual site and mowing everyone and everything in its way. Three warriors were flung to the side with ease, one of them slamming hard into a wall and breaking his neck like a twig on impact.

Lavellan stepped forward, about to run towards the Pride demon, when the ground opened in front of him. Two long hands grabbed at the ground, leaving claw marks on the stone as a Terror lifted itself from the glowing portal. It stood up before him, all of its black beady eyes moving to focus on the elf in front of it. With a screech, it dragged its swaying body towards him.

He reminisced on the first time he fought a Terror demon and how frightened he was. He remembered the way his hands trembled as he clutched his shoddy daggers for support. But now was different. After everything he’s experienced, there was no fear in his eyes as he stared up at this monster. It wasn’t as terrifying as it used to be. Now it was only another thing to cut down for it stood in his way.

Daggers at the ready, he charged at the demon just as it raised its clawed hand to attack. Razor-sharp claws scraped against one of his enchanted daggers, its anti-demon metal burning the Terror despite not cutting into its flesh. The creature screamed, jerking its arm as if startled by the sting.

Nym wasted no time as he brought the other dagger forward, slashing the Terror’s side and burning its scraggy skin with the magical fire. The demon stumbled, swinging its arm towards him as it spun around. He ducked, feeling its claw pass through his hair and a few white strands fell off like specks of snow. Both daggers sliced at its wiry leg, using them like scissors as he cut off the limb. The Terror screamed in pain, falling down to the ground and hacking towards his legs for one final attempt to kill him. Jumping to avoid the slashes, he brought both weapons down into the demon’s head when he landed on the creature.

As he lifted his head he could see the Pride demon making a complete mess of the battlefield. It slaughtered most of the Wardens there, while Bull and Stroud somehow managed to hold off the brunt of its attacks. Dorian and Hawke used their magic to try and control the battlefield, confining the demon off with walls of fire and ice. Nym could see Cole cutting into the back of Pride’s knee, trying to weaken its looming posture. Varric was aiming at the creature’s many eyes, but they were a small target and most of the bolts broke on the demon’s thick skull.

It was time for Lavellan to act. Wiggling the fingers of his left hand, he felt that strange discharging power around the fingertips – the energetic power that came from the Anchor. He could sense the force pulsating in his hand. Rising his arm high through the air, the Herald called forth that power as he did once before in the Hinterlands. The Anchor buzzed and sizzled, before an explosion above the Pride’s head opened a new rift – one that worked in reverse to the usual portals. Instead of spitting out spirits, this rift sucked everything in, feeding off of any fade energy it could sense. Unfortunately for the Pride demon, the monster was part of the Fade. The fade rift started swallowing up particles of the Fade, weakening the Pride demon and trying to suck the whole monster back into the Fade.

The demon roared in anger, its giant body lifting from the ground. It grabbed at the stone, stabbing its clawed hands into the ground to resist the drawing force.

Iron Bull snarled at the demon when he noticed it was trying to hold itself down. “Eat shit in the Fade!” He brought down his gigantic axe onto the demon’s hand. The first swing only weakened its grip, but he continued hacking at the hand until he cut clean a few of its fingers. The demon roared as its grip loosened. Bull swung again and the rest of the claws too unattached from the stone. Nothing to hold on to anymore, the Pride was lifted in the air. In one final vicious attempt to drag its enemies with it, the monster swung its other hand. Bull saw it coming and swiftly jumped to the ground, ducking below the swiping hand. Unfortunately, the Warden behind him wasn’t so quick to react and she screamed when the demon took a hold of her. The Warden’s screams echoed as she was taken into the Fade along with the Pride demon; both of them disappearing as the portal closed.

Before Nym had time to contemplate on that woman’s dreadful fate, Dorian called out to him, “Nym, the rift!”

“I know!” The elf kept his hand in the air as he turned his attention towards the gaping fade rift from where the demons originally came. He focused on the power in his mark and managed to make a connection with the rift, quickly closing it before it could expel anything else at them. Feeling weak from all the exertion of fighting coupled with closing the rift, he huffed in relieved exhaustion.

“Inquisitor!” Blackwall’s voice sounded behind him, and he turned to see the Grey Warden run up to the ritual site together with Vivienne and Sera.

“Guys, just in time,” Nym called out.

“More like; you missed all the fun,” Hawke corrected.

“I’ll say. What happened here? Ya all look like shite,” Sera noted with a loopy grin.

“Where’s Cass,” Bull asked, trudging to the rest of them. He had a nasty gash on the side, curtesy of Pride’s claws. During the battle, he could barely feel the sting - his reaver blood only boiling and turning pain into rage. But now, the adrenaline was slowly leaving his body, letting the ache slowly seep in. Luckily, Dorian used what little healing magic he knew to close the bleeding wound while they talked.

“She’s commanding the troops together with Cullen. Solas is with them too,” Blackwall explained in short.

Lavellan bit his lip, looking around the battlefield. The Wardens that were left were all in a sorry state, but they either surrendered or were fighting against the demons now. “Blackwall, can you and the rest give support to the Wardens fighting the demons?”

“It would be my honor,” the warrior nodded.

“So now we’re helping the baddies? I’m confused,” the archer girl shrugged.

“They surrendered and they’re helping us fight now,” Nymrodel explained.

“What of you, darling?” Vivienne interjected.

He glanced back at his initial group and his eyes narrowed, “We’re going after Erimond and Clarel.”

“They ran towards the upper battlements. We’re gonna have to hurry if we want to catch up ‘fore they kill each other,” Iron Bull noted.

In a silent order Nym nodded, and the group was off.

~……~

Lavellan sprinted down the battlements, trying to reach the Warden-Commander before the Archdemon does. He was running at full speed when he suddenly felt the ground shake. Corypheus’ dragon landed onto the bulwark wall, roaring with rage and power. By the time Nym realized what was happening, the dragon already had its jaws wide open, the corrupted power accumulating inside.  

“Look out!” It was the only warning he had time to give as he switched from his run into a dodge, and jumped to the side behind a column. In the same instant, the Archdemon released the dark fire in a form of a powerful blast that swept across the entire pathway. The fortress shook as such great force disturbed the ancient walls. The columns couldn’t hold out and some of them started to collapse.

Nym watched with wide eyes as the column he was using for cover started to crumble above him. He rolled to the side in the nick of time before the large boulders crushed him.

“Nym!” Cole exclaimed, helping him up.

The elf was more concerned about the others, however. “Is everyone alright?!” He scanned the area, sighing in relief when he saw his comrades bruised, but alive.

“I’m starting to get bad recollections of Haven,” Dorian announced sourly.

A gust of wind almost threw them off their feet as the Archdemon rose up into the air again, its mighty screech piercing their ears. It lifted into the sky, flying further up the fortress.

“It’s going after Clarel,” Cole warned. Nym couldn’t fathom how Cole could possibly know that, but he believed him nevertheless.

“Then let’s hurry!” The Inquisitor called out as he broke into a sprint once more.

After a rough way up while being bombarded by the Archdemon’s magical fire and a few more demons along the way, the Inquisition group finally reached the upper battlements. They stopped in their tracks when they saw Clarel looming over a beaten Erimond, her staff at the ready.

“I will _never_ serve the Blight!” Clarel raised her staff to silence the Magister’s pleas once and for all.

She never had the time to use her magic, as the Archdemon swooped down from the sky, biting down on her. Its cutting maws pierced into the body, easily crunching down on metal, bones and meat alike. The dragon landed on the ground, tearing into her body and swinging it around like a piece of meat, before it spat her out to the side like she was filth not worth eating.

“Clarel, no!!” Stroud shouted in shock as his Warden-Commander was torn apart before his eyes.

Nymrodel only stared with wide eyes, frozen in place. When his legs complied to work again, he quickly hurried to her side only to stop in his tracks when the dragon turned its attention towards him. It lowered its stance, creeping at him like a wild animal examining its prey before pouncing. Careful not to make any sudden moves, he kept eye contact with the beast as he slowly reached for the daggers on his back.

By Mythal’s Mercy or some sort of amazing luck, Clarel was still alive even after the deadly injuries she sustained. She couldn’t have had much time left with her stomach open, guts and blood spilling out. Yet the woman still had strength to speak her own sacred vow and prayer that every Grey Warden knew by heart. “In war, victory...”  

Nym and his group drew backwards as the Archdemon stalked towards them, opening its snout in a warning hiss. It gurgled in the back of its throat, never taking its eyes off the Inquisitor.

“In peace, vigilance…,” Clarel spoke as she dragged her wounded body across the ground, weakly following after the dragon. She summoned her magic just as the beast was ready to pounce on Lavellan, cutting through its stomach with her electrical surge when the creature jumped. She was too weak to speak the final words, and they only echoed in her mind as her vision blurred into darkness, _*In death, sacrifice.*_

The Archdemon shrieked in pain, losing its balance and toppling to the side. It crashed into the already-damaged bulwark, making the ground shake and collapse beneath its weight.

A sharp gasp escaped Nym when he realized the ground around him was collapsing. He glanced around at his companions, who were struggling back onto their feet just like him. The Archdemon fell off the battlements, but quickly caught its balance again and flew away, wounded from Clarel’s attack.  

Unfortunately, Nym and his team didn’t have that option.

“Run!” Hawke shouted, already jumping over the collapsing stones on the bridge and towards safety.

“Inquisitor!” Stroud’s voice came in alarm from behind and Nym turned to see the Warden sliding backwards on his stomach. He gripped the destroyed ledge right before falling into the Abyssal Rift below.  

The elf ran back for him, jumping onto his stomach and using gravity to slide downwards, stopping himself right before the ledge. He grabbed Stroud’s gloved hand with both of his and pulled him back up with a loud groan.

“Come on!” He helped the Warden back to his feet and the two swayed over the crumbling battlements, trying to reach steadier ground. But soon, Nym realized there was nowhere to run to. It was hopeless. The stone beneath his feet dissolved into air, and in terror, he saw his friends falling into the black before his eyes. His world turned upside-down when he joined them – staring into the gaping darkness of the Abyssal Rift.

_*No!*_ In the few precious seconds of his life left, he refused to believe that this was the end. _*It can’t end like this! Not before we defeat Corypheus! Not before I see my Clan again!*_ His mind screamed in defiance, before his Anchor crackled as if reminding him of its presence. He watched the shimmering light in his palm and wondered – how many times did he open and close portals? If he could do it now, they might be saved. But a shuddering thought reminded him he could only carry them to one place; and it might be just as bad as dying. _*No…it’s worth a shot and it’s definitely better than falling to our deaths,*_ his consciousness argued. Reaching in front of him like countless times before, Nym activated his mark. A portal materialized before them, and instead of the darkness, they were swallowed by a bright green light.

~.….~

 “Aaaah!” Nym couldn’t help but scream and flail his arms as he continued to fall through the sky. Instead of the Abyss, there was now solid ground before him, and he was approaching it at vertiginous speed. Just as he was about to hit the ground with an impact that would surely end his life, his body stopped. He continued to levitate in the air, only inches above the ground. His eyes tightly shut, he dared to open one eye slowly, confused that the expected hit never came.

Witnessing what was before him, both eyes opened wide. The elf was breathless, staring at the rock formation below him in shock. With a trembling hand, he reached for solid ground. A part of him still didn’t believe any of this was real; perhaps they all fell into that hole and died after all. Perhaps this was only his soul, traveling through the Beyond as he reached the end of his rather short life. The only way to convince himself was to feel that the world around him was solid, real, and not just some illusion or dream. With a single finger he touched the ground in front of him, and as if that somehow restored the natural forces around him, the gravity returned and pulled him downwards.

He yelped as his body flipped, before his back painfully hit the rocky ground. “Ow…,” he winced, lying there for a second as he stared at the blazing unnatural sky above him. It felt less like a dream now that he could clearly feel the pain in his back.

With a groan he stood up, looking around in alarm when his senses returned to him. Luckily, he wasn’t alone. The others scanned their surroundings, just as confused, as they all fell from the sky.

“Where are we?” Stroud was first to ask, his voice bouncing off the rocks and creating an unnatural echo.

“We were falling…” Hawke strode to them as he tried to put the pieces back together. “And we landed…here.”

Nym and Stroud both stared up at him with wide eyes when they noticed he was _above_ them, completely turned up-side down. I was like the natural rules of the world didn’t apply in this place.

“Am I dead?” Varric’s voice called out in question from nearby.

“If so, then we’re all dead. And if this is the Afterlife, I’m going to be _very_ disappointed,” the apostate mage answered, searching the area with his sharp gaze. “This looks nothing like the Maker’s bosom.”

“We’re not dead…I think,” Nym started. “I used the Anchor to open a fade rift and we fell through.”

“Wait…you’re saying we’re at the same place as you send those demons in? And where they come from? Aaaah, crap!” Iron Bull groaned, cursing in Qunlat under his breath.

“It was either that or fall into a bottomless chasm and die.” Shrugging, the elf exclaimed defensively.

 “We’re in the Fade… _Physically_!? How is that even possible,” Dorian muttered.

Cole, on the other hand, was slowly losing any control over himself. He shook his head, his shoulders trembling. “No…no, no, no, no! This is the Fade, but I’m stuck! I can’t…why can’t I?”

“Cole!” Nym grabbed his shoulders, trying to get the panicking young man to focus. He searched for his blue eyes under the long bangs, locking their eyes together. “Relax, it will be alright. We’ll find a way out of here.” He didn’t understand what has gotten into his friend, but he could feel the distress exuding from him.

The young man had his eyes wide open. They were filled with alarm and fear as he looked back at Nym. “I..I c-can’t be here! Not like this, not like me!

“What’s wrong, kid?” Varric furrowed his eyebrows in worry as he approached the two of them.

“This place is wrong. I made myself forget when I made myself real, but I-I know it wasn’t like this,” the spirit boy explained.

“The first time I entered the Fade, it looked like a lovely castle filled with gold and silks. I met a marvelous desire demon, as I recall. We chatted and ate grapes before he attempted to possess me,” Dorian reminisced, looking awfully calm despite their dire situation.

 “Maybe it’s because we’re in the Fade physically? This isn’t anyone’s dream,” Hawke shrugged. He turned to the Inquisitor, “The stories say you walked out of the Fade at Haven. Was it like this?”

Nym was still in the middle of calming Cole down. He pressed his lips tightly together as he tried to remember _anything_ about his experience at the Conclave. A cold, dark feeling slowly crept inside of him – like a gut feeling telling him something was amiss. But no memories came. He shook his head with a frown, “I…I don’t know. I can’t remember anything of that time,” there was an undertone of frustration in his voice as he answered. Even after all this time, it agitated him that he had a blank space in his memories, which he couldn’t fill.

The apostate sighed, “Well, whatever happened at Haven, we can’t assume we’re safe now. That huge demon was right on the other side of that rift Erimond was using, and there could be others.

Nym shuddered at the disconcerting thought, “You’re saying, whatever we caught a glimpse of in that rift is now here…with us?”

Iron Bull, who was grumbling in disgust, finally spoke up again, growling in irritation between his words. “Ah, this is shitty.” He shook his head before turning to the Inquisitor, “I’ll fight whatever you give me, Boss, but nobody said nothing ‘bout getting dragged through the ass end of Demon Town.”

“What, you mean this _isn’t_ your ideal vacation destination?” Nym asked him in a mockingly shocked tone, giving the Tal-Vashoth a wry smile.

Bull just returned it with a smile of his own, lightly shaking his head at the elf. His gaze clearly stated _‘Smartass’_ to the other, but there was mirth in it.

Breaking up their short banter, the Warden spoke, “In our world, the rift the demons came through was nearby. Can we escape the same way?”

Nymrodel stepped forward and gazed up at the nightmarish sky. There was a vortex of spirits and energy far above, swallowing up old ruins and pieces of the Fade. He could see the Black City in the distance – a place of legends, visible from each corner of the Fade. In Dalish beliefs, there was where their Gods were trapped, tricked by the Dread Wolf and locked up in their folly. And if the legends are true, Fen’Harel was still here somewhere, roaming the Beyond – perhaps watching them at this very moment. A shiver passed down his spine and he gulped at the thought of that shrewd Wolf setting his eyes on him. _May the dread wolf never hear your footsteps;_ the old Dalish saying that has become more of a catchphrase than an actual warning over the ages, suddenly felt very accurate. Nym found himself hoping that the phrase truly works as a blessing, just as the elves once believed it did.

He took a deep breath, weighing their options. It’s not like they could stand here and wait. There was no rescue coming, after all. His eyes fell on the swirling vortex again – the tear in the Void. “There! Better be on the move than wait for demons to find us. Let’s go.”

~……~

They trudged through the murky waters of the Fade, battling Wraiths or Shade demons on their way, but luckily didn’t come across anything truly dangerous yet. Even so, simply being in this world was enough to unnerve even the most calloused of warriors, such as the Iron Bull.

He grumbled under his breath, his one eye glaring with irate. He made a bad imitation of Krem’s voice as he spoke sardonically, “Hey, Chief, let’s join the Inquisition! Good fights for a good cause!” I don’t know, Krem. I hear there are demons. “Ah, don’t worry about the demons, Chief! I’m sure we won’t see many!” Bull continued, then muttered under his breath before shouting in anger, “Asshole!” He turned to the rest of the group, “Everyone, if I get possessed, feint on my blind side, then go low. Cullen says I leave myself open.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Varric grimly answered. He, however, was more worried about the red lyrium that grew from the rocks around them, if the dubious way he was eyeing it was any indication. He sighed, gazing around the dreary area as they proceeded onward, “Is this really what it’s like when you dream? How do you people ever sleep?”

“Personally, my visits to the fade are normally more pleasant. I don’t usually wake up feeling the need to bathe.” Dorian mulled over his own words, “For the most part. Sometimes though...” A small smirk appeared beneath his mustache, before he cleared his throat, “Well, never mind that.”

“I’ll try not to,” Stroud murmured blankly.

They encountered a few more Wraiths on the way, but made quick work of them. Luckily, the demons here didn’t seem any more powerful than in the real world. At least the minor ones.

“Remember last time we ended up in the Fade, Hawke?” Varric glanced at his mage friend.

The black-haired human rolled his eyes. “Oh, how could I forget? My closest friends showed such _loyalty_ in the face of a demon’s temptations,” sarcasm was dripping from his voice.

“You…betrayed him?” Nym raised an eyebrow.

“Well, we got better,” the dwarf quickly defended himself and the others. Then he mused over it a bit more carefully and shrugged, “Sort of.” There _was_ still the issue of Rivaini betraying them later, then coming back with that damned Qunari book. And of course, Blondie blowing up the Chantry.  

“Well, I expect someone to put me down before it comes to that,” Bull commented in a humorless tone. There was a dark glint in his eye, and this time Nym couldn’t bring himself to make a joke to lighten up the mood.

The elf clenched his hands into fists as he watched the man he cared so much about struggle, yet he was unable to do anything for him. “It won’t come to that,” he stated, his voice confident and strong. He will not allow himself to lose one more person he cared for. Never again. His gaze was burning with fervor as it locked with Bull’s, “I won’t let _anything_ happen to you.” Even Bull seemed a bit taken aback by his zeal before he collected himself again. His gaze softened as he gave his elf a small smile.  

Nymrodel blinked, finally realizing everyone had stopped walking and were now staring at the duo, where a strange atmosphere was brewing. They saw there was a curious connection between the two, something tangible that they couldn’t quite name or decipher yet. Then again, neither could Nym and Bull, for that matter.

Quickly looking away from the Tal-Vashoth as his cheeks flushed in apprehension, he cleared his throat. “I mean, I won’t let anything happen to _any of you_ ….obviously,” he hurriedly corrected himself, afraid to look at the others lest they notice his heated blush.

“Tied, but tenderly, loving in the letters of a word that would stop it, knots in satin scarves,” Cole’s voice trailed from behind them, reflecting some of the tender tension around the pair. Luckily, his ambiguous wording was too hard for anyone to truly understand and guess who or what he was talking about.

“Huh?” Varric raised an eyebrow at the spirit rogue.

“Well then, we should really keep going. We can’t afford to linger in one place for long! Because…demons and all that.” Nymrodel reminded them, his voice uncharacteristically high-pitched. He was trying to hide his alarm behind a mask of impassiveness. If anyone noticed his suddenly nervous demeanor, they didn’t comment on it – or perhaps, they simply wrote it off as anxiety from being in the Fade.

“The Inquisitor is right. We cannot make any unnecessary stops,” Warden Stroud warned them, taking the lead as they continued their walk down the numerous paths ahead.

~……~

Nym couldn’t tell how long they’ve been walking. He had no sense of time in this place, and direction wasn’t coming easily either. Everything around him appeared the same, and the paths kept branching out into more and more roads. They could be walking in circles and he wouldn’t be able to tell. Hawke told him the Fade reflects emotions and intent, so as long as he’s focused on his goal, it will lead him where he wishes to go. He trusted the mage, of course, but a part of him felt that sounded too good to be true.

A figure in front of him stopped his musings and the Inquisitor gasped, his blue eyes widening in bewilderment. “Impossible…,” he whispered. The person in front of him had to be some sort of hallucination. A trick of the Fade.

“By the Maker,” Stroud was equally stunned as he stared at the vision ahead. “Devine Justinia,” he uttered.

The old woman clad in clerical robes smiled, her eyes gentle and understanding – as one would expect from the Most Holy. “I greet you, Warden. And you, Champion,” her gaze fell on Stroud and Hawke first as she spoke in a heavy Orlesian accent. Then her eyes slid to Lavellan, “It is good to see you again…Inquisitor.”

Nym could barely speak without stuttering. “T-this…can’t be real. Back at Haven, I saw…I saw you die.”

“It is not real. I fear we face a spirit…or a demon,” the Grey Warden cautioned.

The woman mirthfully chuckled, not taking offense to his words. “You think my survival impossible, yet here you stand alive in the Fade yourselves,” she countered. “In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have. Just know I am here to help you.”

“That’s what all demons say,” Hawke interjected.

Devine Justinia, or whatever she was, ignored Hawke’s dubious remark and approached the Inquisitor, “You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor.”

Nym frowned at her, more doubtful of this creature by the moment, “How do you know my title if you are the real Devine? I only became the Inquisitor _after_ the Conclave,” he challenged.

 “I know because I have examined memories like yours, stolen by the demon that serves Corypheus. It is the Nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror,” she explained. She faced Stroud again, “The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work.”

Stroud snarled in anger, “Then I would gladly avenge the insult this Nightmare dealt my brethren.”

“You will have your chance, brave Warden. This place of darkness is its lair. As Corypheus unleashed terror into the world, the Nightmare grew stronger. Every child’s cry as the Archdemon circles, every dwarf’s whimper in the Deep Roads...it has fed well.” Once again, her attention changed towards Nymrodel, “I am here to help you leave this place. But before that, there is something else you must do. When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you. Before you do anything else, you must recover it. As you proceed, your memories will return to you, but _you_ must want them to.” 

The elf wrinkled his forehead, his vallaslin crumpling in the arch of his nose, “Of course I want my memories back.”

“Sometimes we unconsciously want to forget what terrifies us, until we are ready to confront it. Retrieve your memories, Inquisitor, but be wary…the Nightmare won’t let go of them willingly.”

That grim feeling in the pit of his stomach returned as Nymrodel listened to her. He knew what it was now; it was dread - pure and strong – rearing its ugly head every time he tried to remember what happened at the Temple. Those were the remnants of the Nightmare. His memories of that time always felt so close he could almost give them shape, yet at the same time, always just out of reach. Until now.  

~…..~

Lavellan gasped sharply as part of his recollection returned to him in a form of a painful flashback. Images fluttered behind his eyes; Grey Warden mages holding Devine Justinia in a trap of their making. 

_“Now is the hour of our victory.”_ Corypheus’ gravelly voice echoed inside the room. Nym shuddered. Even without seeing the ancient Magister, he would recognize his voice anywhere. _“Keep the sacrifice still.”_

The elven artifact Solas talked about was in Corypheus’ hands, charging up with the same powerful energy his Anchor consisted of.

_“What’s going on here!?”_ He saw himself burst through the doors, demanding answers.

In the next moment, the Devine slapped the orb from Corypheus’ hands, sending it rolling towards the rogue elf. Working on instinct and still shocked by what he was witnessing, he caught it without thinking.

Nymrodel remembered the searing agony that coursed through him, pooling into one torrid spot in the palm of his left hand. He screamed as his hand pulsated with uncontrolled power. As the memory washed away in a blinding flash of white, Nym returned to reality without realizing he was still screaming – the pain in his hand still vivid in his mind.

“Aaaaah!” He fell to his knees, gasping for breath while he tried to focus his hazy vision.

“Snow!”

Varric ran up to him, but Bull was faster, kneeling beside him and supporting him so he wouldn’t collapse to the ground. “Boss, say something! You alright?”

“I….I,” Nym tried to speak, but his mind was still muddled, his voice shaky. It took a few more breaths for him to collect himself. “Yes…I’m alright.” He grabbed onto Bull’s arm, more to keep himself grounded to reality than physical support.

“Did _everyone_ see that?” Dorian gaped, his brown eyes traveling from one shocked face to the other. “It seems so…,” he concluded, judging by their expressions.

Stroud turned to face Nym, who was slowly getting back on his feet, “So your mark didn’t come from Andraste. It came from the orb Corypheus used in his ritual.”

Finally, the legend of the great Herald of Andraste was disputed! Lavellan would feel relieved if he weren’t so worried this would only anger the shemlen, causing them to blame _him_ for misleading them this whole time.

“Corypheus intended to rip open the Veil, use the Anchor to enter the Fade, and throw open the doors of the Black City. Not for the Old Gods, but for himself. When you disrupted his plan, the orb bestowed the Anchor upon you instead,” Justinia’s spirit explained.

He sighed warily, “I kept telling everyone I was no Prophet of Andraste…but no one listened.” He didn’t want to tell them ‘I told you so,’ but that is pretty much how he felt at the moment. What intrigued him much more was the fact that the artifact that placed this power in his hand was in fact elven. The same one Corypheus tried to use on him when Haven was attacked – now he knew why.

“And now you know you were correct. You have recovered some of yourself, but now it knows you are here. You must make haste. I will prepare the way ahead.” Justinia closed her eyes, dissolving before them. That image was enough to convince everyone she was most certainly not human, whatever she was.

The company glanced at each other disconcerted as she disappeared. “I admit I’m a bit worried that we have something called a Nightmare after us,” the elf commented.

Hawke frowned. “And I’m troubled by what we saw in that vision of yours. Those were Grey Wardens holding the Devine. Their actions led to her death!” He turned an accusing eye towards the only Grey Warden among them.

In response, Stroud grudgingly admitted, “I assume Corypheus had taken their minds, as you have seen him do before.” He gestured for the apostate to move. “Come, we can argue after we escape this dark place.”

Hawke’s eyes narrowed, his piercing stare glued on Stroud. “Oh, I intend to,” he snarled.

A bead of cold sweat appeared on the elf’s neck as he cautiously watched them. The last thing he needed now was infighting, and even a non-mage like him knew any strong emotions could attract demons.

“Was that really the Devine?” Varric could hardly hold his thoughts in place.

Dorian looked genuinely surprised. “I have no idea. If it’s a spirit, it’s not acting like one. No demon would have been so helpful without asking something in return,” he pointed out.

“Solas says there’s a difference between spirits and demons. Spirits aren’t necessarily harmful to us,” the elf countered. He learned a thing or two about the Fade and spirits from conversing with their Fade-expert.    

“And this Nightmare demon…it sounds like it preys on fear. Stealing people’s memories. That’s low, even for a demon. Memories make us what we are. A monster that takes them away? I don’t want to think about that,” the dwarf added.

Stroud clenched his jaw in anger. “After what it did to my fellow Wardens, I pray we find some way to strike it down.”

Cole shook his head. “This is all wrong. All wrong! Wringing me out. Wrought right and rigid. Can't relax. Can't release...,” he raved like a possessed lunatic, staring into space with a hollow gaze.

“Hang in there, kid,” Varric muttered, clearly worried for the blonde as he eyed him cautiously.

So was Nymrodel. The roguish boy was clearly in pain. He put a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “We'll get you out of here soon. It’s alright,” he kept repeating in a gentle tone, trying to reassure him.

The blonde nodded, hurt still present in his pale eyes, “Thank you. It should be like home. It's not. This isn't me, not this part. This Nightmare…it’s nothing like me. I make people forget to help them. It _eats_ their fears. I-I don’t know if I could do that, but I don’t. I don’t want to. That’s not me.”

“Relax, kid. I don’t imagine anybody seeing much of you in the Nightmare,” Varric sighed.

Nym nodded in agreement, giving Cole a comforting smile.

Even Bull seemed worried about him. He slapped him on the back as if hoping it would jolt him out of his distressed state. “Come on, kid, you’ll feel better after you hit something. An’ I have a feeling there’ll be plenty of things to hit soon.”

The two walked away side-by-side, Cole blinking up at him in wonder, “You feel better when you hit things?”

“Yah, don’t you?” The brawny warrior asked with a tone which stated that should be a given.

~…..~

The fears they encountered on the way weren’t just their own, but of numerous people who cowered in their dreams, leaving their nightmares behind in the Fade so they wouldn’t need to remember them once morning came.

 Nymrodel stumbled backwards when he heard the sloshing sound of mud beneath his feet. He heard the moans around him and as he looked down, he could see a rotten hand gripping at his ankle. He slashed with his dagger, the creature hissing as the hand fell clean off.

Of course it had to be the undead. Justinia did warn them the Nightmare will use their innermost fears against them, creeping into their mind and misusing everything it finds there. It could give shape to their thoughts and fears, turning them into smaller versions of itself – nightmares.

He was surrounded, the undead corpses shuffling towards him with sharp claws and rusty swords. Gritting his teeth in disgust, he expertly threw four daggers with each hand, hitting the undead. The corpses toppled into the mud, disappearing inside it as if they were dissolving after their death.

One corpse slashed at his neck, trying to rip it open. He dodged backwards, feeling a sting on his shoulder as another undead attacked from the back. Spinning around, his sliced with his daggers and cut off its head, before jumping to the side and out of the circle of undead that was starting to form around him. He repositioned his weapons before charging back in, keeping low and fast to avoid any contact with his aggressors. Quickly he moved through them, cutting off limbs and leaping away before the corpses could reach him.

He jumped to the side, changing position once more and stabbing the nearest corpse into the stomach, cutting upwards with his blade and ripping through its decayed torso. The rotten smell of death was enough to make him gag, and the sight of bloated flesh falling off the bones only made it worse. He stabbed the last-standing corpse through the eye, sweeping its leg and toppling it to the watery ground.

With a disgusted grimace, he sheathed his daggers onto his back. _*No matter how many times I fight these things, I’ll never get used to them,*_ he concluded.

As their fight ended, he turned to face his companions again, winded and weary. “What _were_ those things? They were like no undead I’ve ever fought before.”

“Undead?” Hawke blinked in puzzlement. “I saw giant spiders.”

“You guys saw spiders? That's a huge improvement over what I saw,” the Tal-Vashoth growled. For him it was demons; shitload of demons trying to possess his mind.

“Of course, a fear demon would know where to hurt us most. We must ignore it,” the human apostate warned.

“Small fears, too small to shape the Fade themselves. Clinging to the Nightmare. Feeding on the bits it leaves behind,” the young blonde explained.

“The demons look different to each of us, personalized little terrors. Most people fear spiders so that is what they present themselves to be,” Dorian explained, burning yet another fearling with his fire.

“Wonderful,” Nym deadpanned. An idea crossed his mind and he eyed the green mist around him, “You know, I am just terrified of bunnies! You hear that, fear demons? I absolutely abhor bunnies!” Unfortunately, it didn’t work. He sighed in disappointment.

“Nice try,” Hawke smirked at him in amusement.

“It was worth a shot,” the elf shrugged. His eyes narrowed as a silhouette formed right in the corner of his eye, but as he swiftly turned to catch it, there was no one standing there. The figure reminded him of someone, it looked familiar, yet he couldn’t get a clear view to tell who it was. Blaming his fatigue and distress, he quickly pushed it out of his mind.

Varric glanced up at him with a smirk, right after shooting another bolt into a fearling, “So the undead, huh? Should’ve known…”

“Not.a.word,” the Inquisitor emphasized, giving the dwarf a warning glare.

The other rogue just chuckled in amusement, but keeping whatever other quips he had to himself.

A rumbling voice broke their conversation. They looked around, trying to pinpoint the location of the echoing voice, but it was impossible. It sounded as if it came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. A lazy laugh broke out as the booming voice spoke, “Ah, we have a visitor.” It sounded mocking more than anything. “Some foolish little boy comes to steal the fear I kindly lifted from his shoulders. You should have thanked me and left your fear where it lay, forgotten.”

_*So this must be the Nightmare,*_ the elf grimly thought. He clenched his jaw in irate, but ignored the demon’s snide comments, stubbornly pressing on through the murky waters.

“You think the pain will make you stronger? What fool filled your mind with such drivel?” The Nightmare continued, trying to push his buttons.

A flash of Ronas’s face passed through his mind. If there was anyone who taught him not to give up when times were difficult, when he was in pain, it was his human mentor _. “When you think you have reached your limit. When you can’t move any longer. That is when you have to give it one final push and cross all your limits!”_ Ronas’s words echoed loudly in his mind, and Nym smiled. This Nightmare won’t get the best of him. Let it send all the undead it wanted after him, he would cut them all down.

“The only one who grows stronger from your fears here is _me_ ,” the mysterious demon continued, its voice a sound of growling echo, as if it came from the dark Abyss itself. “But you are a guest here in my home, so by all means, let me return what you have forgotten,” it laughed menacingly.

A shape of that same figure from before flashed at his side again, but he had no time to face it as more fearling demons attacked them. Not only those, but Rage and Shade demons also joined, drawn by the fearful emotions the humans were experiencing.

Nym snarled, throwing a dagger at a Despair demon, which threw a sharp icicle in return. The blade hit its chest, flinging it to the ground from the strong impact, but the icicle hit the elf’s shoulder at the same time. Just like the demon, Nym stumbled, but managed to keep himself on his feet. Tightening his jaw, he ignored the pain, when suddenly he felt a presence behind him. With dagger in hand, he swiftly turned to slice the neck of whatever was behind him…then abruptly stopped. The elf’s whole body froze, his ice-colored eyes wide in bafflement. Even his breathing stopped, as if forgetting how to draw breath for a moment.

In front of him wasn’t an undead corpse, or a spider, or even a demon. His blade stopped a feather’s width away from a lean, pale neck of a beautiful elven woman he would recognize even after all this time. Despite himself, tears stung his eyes, blurring the sight of the woman in front of him. Long white hair fell in gentle curls around her face, while two eyes of the same blue color as his stared back at him lovingly.

“Mamae,” Nym whispered in a shaky voice.

Opening her mouth slowly, his mother spoke in that gentle tone he still remembered. The same voice she had when she used to sing to him and Seiriadel. “Nymrodel,” she called out to him, her gaze unusually sad. Did she always have such sad eyes?

His hand trembled as he realized he was still holding his weapon against her throat, and hesitantly he let his arm fall. He was about to respond to her when he noticed small black veins appearing underneath her skin. They branched out and spread like vines, covering her pale face and corrupting it. _Corruption_. That’s right; his mother died of the blight sickness. She died when he was six. She couldn’t possibly be here.

He took a deep intake of air, finally remembering to breathe again. This was just the Nightmare’s distraction. It wasn’t real.

Grasping the icicle still lodged in his shoulder, he pulled it out with a pained, but angry shout. He turned from the apparition that couldn’t possibly be his mother, right as the Despair demon stalked towards him, ready to blow its frozen breath onto him. It blew out frigid air, freezing everything in its path. Nym jumped into a sideroll to avoid it, throwing two new daggers at the demon, before quickly finding cover behind a rock. One dagger missed, but the other hit its shoulder.

Nym’s cover froze over into solid ice, but he acted as soon as the frosted air stopped. He jumped over the rock, dual daggers in hand, and rushed at the demon. Behind him, his mother called out to him in a pleading voice, “Are you going to leave me again?”

He ignored the heart-wrenching feeling in his chest and girt his teeth to endure it. Her words hurt more than any open wound on his body.

The elven rogue slinked into the shadows, disappearing from the Despair’s sight. It was floating in the air again, but not as steady as before due to its injuries. It shrieked, like a true cry of despair it represented, scanning the battlefield for the elf. Nym climbed on the rock formation behind it, jumping down on its back with both daggers raised. One enchanted with fire, the other with a demon-slaying rune – he couldn’t pick a better target than the ice demon. His blades stabbed into the ragged form of the creature, and it shrieked again, this time so piercingly loud, it hurt his ears. He was sure he would still hear ringing in them long after this fight.

The magical fire enveloped its rags while the anti-demon blade burned at its flesh. They cut deep into the monster and ripped its back as Nym slid back to the ground, landing on it gracefully.

A dark figure was standing just outside his field of vision, unfocused but very real. It kept staring right at him, wordlessly calling out to him _. *No, don’t look at it. Ignore her,*_ he told himself, focusing on the Despair demon instead.

The Despair burst into flames from his dagger, crying out in agony as it slowly dissolved into thin air. Nym sheathed back his weapons, before clutching at the bleeding hole in his shoulder. Every move of his right arm hurt, sending numbing pain down his arm and back. Panting, he kept his eyes plastered to the ground, afraid of what else he might see if he looks up. But his fear soon turned to anger and his eyes narrowed in icy rage. He was too furious to register the ache in his shoulder. At least the blighted form of his mother vanished, as if her only purpose was to distract him during the fight. _*Now you’ve made it personal, Nightmare,*_ he hissed, his blue eyes gleaming with fury.

“Nym, let me look at that.” Dorian called out as the elf walked over to his friends. They heard a loud cry nearby and saw Bull squash another fearling with the heel of his heavy boot, like it was truly nothing more than a pathetic spider.

“I can help with the healing,” Hawke joined them and the two mages fussed over the Inquisitor whose wound wasn’t that grave to begin with. He was far more concerned about his state of mind at the moment.

“I saw…,” he started, his voice barely a mumble.

Dorian blinked at him in wonder, “What?”

The elf clammed up, deciding it would be better not to mention anything. He shook his head, “Never mind.”

Deep laughter broke out again and Lavellan glared at the chaotic sky above them, his body tensing instantly at the sound of Nightmare’s voice. “Perhaps _I_ should be afraid, facing the most powerful members of the Inquisition.” It laughed at them in mockery. Its cruel taunting turned towards the roguish spirit, “Are you afraid, Cole? I can help you forget. Just like you help other people. We’re so very much alike, you and I.”

“No,” was Cole’s curt answer, but it was barely hearable. He was still suffering inside.

“Don’t listen to it, kid, it’s just trying to get under your skin,” Varric consoled him.

That only cast the demon’s attention onto him, “Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric. You found red lyrium. You brought Hawke here…”

“Just keep talking, Smiley,” the dwarf retorted. The fear demon laughed, sounding genuinely amused.

What Nym found most baffling was the fact Varric managed to find a nickname even for this nightmarish terror.

“We should proceed,” Stroud encouraged them and they walked on through the murky waters.

“Warden Stroud,” the demon proceeded to taunt them one by one. “How must it feel to devote your whole life to the Wardens, only to watch them fall? Or worse, to know that you are responsible for their destruction? When the next Blight comes, will they curse your name?”

The said Warden ignored the monster, facing the Inquisitor instead, “With the Maker’s blessing, we will end this wretched beast.”

“Though the Wardens brought this upon themselves,” Hawke muttered under his breath. He was not quite over everything the Grey Wardens did, including trapping the Devine.

It made the Nightmare focus on him, “Did you think you mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a God? Fenris is going to die, just like your mother and sister, and everyone you ever cared about.”

The apostate only rolled his eyes, “Well that’s gonna grow tiresome quickly. It’s not very creative is it?”  

They pressed on, cutting down fearlings, demons of all shapes and sizes and corrupted spirits. All the while moving slowly through the numerous perilous paths of the Fade.

Nym shivered at the cold, wet feeling around his feet. Even with his boots, the dark water found a way to seep inside.

Bull snorted, “So what’s this? Riding on our fear of wet ankles?”

The Nightmare chuckled as if it also found his comment entertaining. “Ah…the Qunari will make a lovely host for one of my minions. Or maybe I will ride his body myself,” the demon taunted.

Any whimsy that was in Bull drained from his expression as it twisted in a frown. “I’d like to see you try,” the man menacingly grumbled.

“And then there’s Dorian…it is Dorian, isn’t it? For a moment, I mistook you for your father.”

The human raised an eyebrow, “Rather uncalled for.”

Nymrodel hesitantly glanced towards him, remembering the letter by Dorian’s father, which was burning a hole in his pocket. For Nightmare to use their relationship to hurt the mage, it had to be something serious, and that fact only made Nym debate further whether he should organize a meeting between them. He didn’t want Dorian to be hurt any more than he evidently already has been by his family.

He had no time to ponder over it as the Nightmare’s attention finally turned towards him. He tried to appear invisible, hoping its all-seeing gaze would not turn to him. Alas, the fear demon offered no such kindness.

“Inquisitor…Herald… _Knife-ear_. So hard to choose only one name,” the demon taunted him. “Perhaps, I should call you Nymrodel _Feynvin_ Lavellan _,_ ” the demon rumbled a chuckle, and Nym froze in response. The Dalish clenched his teeth, a deadly aura appearing around him.

“Shut up,” the elf hissed.

“You aren’t fit to lead the Inquisition. You weren’t able to protect your brother, or your clan. And now, you will fail to protect your friends too. They will all die, and it will be your fault. Your _weakness_ will kill them all,” it hissed the word with malice.

 Eyes hidden behind his bangs, Nym kept his head bowed. Refusing to make any kind of retort while he walked forward and determined to ignore the Nightmare’s taunts.

Iron Bull and Dorian glanced at each other in question behind his back, when Cole suddenly appeared next to them. He explained in the same vague way he always used, as if they had wordlessly asked him a question. “Eyes darting everywhere. Confused, but still alive. Pictures that form nightmares. No. Not nightmares, memories. Sei’s body lying on the ground. There’s too much blood. Too weak. Couldn’t stop father. Couldn’t protect Sei. It should have been me! It should have been me.”

Dorian wrinkled his nose in a mixture of concern and confusion. Worried they would be overheard, he glanced at Nym who walked with his head down in front of them. Unconsciously, he lowered his voice in a whisper when he asked, “What are you talking about, Cole?”

Bull was equally puzzled, eyeing the blonde with a deep frown.

Cole shrugged, “His other half. Two sides of the same coin. Always together, until they weren’t anymore. One life exchanged for the other.” He explained further, while staring with those blank eyes at Nym’s back. The Inquisitor looked so small, all of a sudden. “It’s clearer here; the Nightmare is wringing out all hurts. I can see past the brightness of the Anchor now, because Nymrodel is feeling it.”

“So it’s something from Snow’s past?” Varric joined them, overhearing the conversation.

The spirit boy nodded, “His father hurt him so for a long time he mistook kindness for weakness. But then Ronas came and he made it better. Taught him how to be _him_ again. Taught him it was ok to be him,” he explained, though he was the only one who could make any sense of his words. 

Varric opened his mouth to ask further when Bull raised a hand and stopped him, “We’re dropping this.”

Dorian frowned, “What do you mean? If Nym is hurting we should-”

“Let him deal with it the way _he_ wants to and wait till he’s ready to come to us,” Bull cut him off. “Cole, I don’t want to know, so drop it.”

The blonde tilted his head quizzically as he gazed up at the Tal-Vashoth. “No…You _do_ want to know.” His tone was a statement and a question at the same time. Often, what the Iron Bull said and thought were two different things, and it confused the young man.

Bull sighed, ignoring the accusatory stink eye he was receiving from the mage. “Alright, I do want to know, but I don’t want _you_ to tell me.” He could see Cole needed a better explanation. “Look. Things like that are private, so it needs to come from him. He needs to want to tell me about his past or what troubles him. Otherwise, it’s pointless.”

“Why would he need to tell _you_ anything?” Dorian asked, carrying a rather dubious expression.

Bull caught himself, reminded that none of them yet knew about the relationship he had with Nymrodel. “I’m just an example…I meant _any_ of us,” he corrected, his face never flinching as he blatantly lied to them. Cole gave him another asking glance, but he shut him up with a pointed look.

Varric sighed. “Yeah, I see your point, Tiny. Fine, we’ll leave it be.”

The Tevinter shrugged, “For now, at least. We have more pressing matters to worry about, anyway.”

~…..~

They pushed on further through the Fade, passing by more of those strange, broken mirrors they would stumble upon every now and then. Finally, they reached the Devine once more, and more of Nymrodel’s memories flashed back into his mind.

He saw the Breach back at Haven, recollecting climbing the steep cliffs. But he wasn’t alone. “The Devine,” he realized as he saw a woman reach for him, helping him up.

His lungs burned as he ran, breathless and afraid, but not daring to glance behind him. All he could focus was the tear in the Veil in front of him – the only way out of this nightmare.

A shrill scream came from behind and he recognized Justinia’s voice. Turning around, he saw her caught by those…things. He leaped, grabbing her hand and holding on for dear life. But the pull was too hard, and his muddy boots slipped and slid across the ground. The demons were slowly dragging both of them back into the darkness.

His sweaty hand could barely hold onto the Devine, his fingers slipping from her grip one by one. _“No! Hold on!”_

Their gazes locked and his breath hitched at her expression. He could see the message in her eyes; telling him it was no use. To save himself. He gaped, his shaky lips opening to try and protest.

_“Go,”_ she whispered, letting go of his hand.

_“Nooo!”_ Shouting in disbelief, he grasped for her, but his fingers only passed through air. She was already beyond his reach. He lost her. One more person he wasn’t able to save. One more person who sacrificed themselves for him.

Nymrodel fell to his knees, weakness washing over him. His heart ached with too many different emotions to bear. Tears formed in the corner of his eyes and he struggled to lift his pained gaze. “It was you…,” he said softly towards the Devine’s spirit. “You saved me…and I couldn’t help you. I failed you too.”

“Nym…,” Bull started, scowling with a troubled gaze at the sight of the small elf on his knees.

Nym shook his head, “No! They thought it was Andraste sending me from the Fade, but it was the Devine behind me. I had her in my grip,” he stared down at his clammy hands. “And I lost her…You,” he looked back at Justinia. “ _She_ died.”

A saddened look crossed her wrinkled features as she stood before him. “Yes.”

“So this creature is simply a spirit,” Stroud sighed, sounding disappointed.

“I think we all knew that was the case, Stroud,” Hawke pointed out matter-of-factly.

“I am sorry if I disappoint you,” the woman admitted, genuinely sounding regretful. She closed her eyes and suddenly her whole body went ablaze.

The group gasped as a brilliant light enveloped her, no, she _became_ the light. She showed them her true form – a dazzling figure of a woman, lifting into the air to hover above them.

For a moment, Lavellan forgot his aching spirit while he watched the illuminating figure with awe. “Are you a memory of Devine Justinia? Her reflection?” He remembered Solas saying the Fade reflected the real world on the other side, so perhaps, this spirit reflected the Devine.

It still spoke to them in Justinia’s voice, “If that is the story you wish to tell, it is not a bad one.”

Hawke glowered at the Warden warrior, “What we do know is that the real Devine perished at the Temple, thanks to the Grey Wardens.”

Stroud returned that glare, “As I said, the Grey Wardens responsible for that crime were under the control of Corypheus. We can discuss this further once we return to Adamant.”

The apostate had a bone to pick, however, and he wasn’t about to let it go so easily. “Yes, Adamant, where the Inquisition faces an army of demons raised by the Wardens.” The fact that Carver was one of the Wardens, and almost became a part of that insanity, only fueled Hawke’s anger.

“Hawke, I don’t think this is the time-,” his dwarven friend started, only to be cut off by Stroud.

Now the Warden also lost his cool when the temperaments heightened, “How _dare_ you judge us! You tore Kirkwall apart and started the Mage Rebellion!” They accused each other, pointing fingers at the other’s wrongdoings.

All but shouting now, the mage stepped closer, pushing himself into Stroud’s personal space, “To protect innocent mages, not madmen drunk on blood magic!” His hate for blood magic ran deep and he could ignore it no further. “Even without the influence of Corypheus, the Wardens go too far! They need to be checked.”

Dorian shrugged, “They might still be useful. What if Corypheus conjured another Blight? You never know.”

Varric sighed, “I don’t know what to tell you. There are a few good ones, but an awful lot of the Wardens I’ve known went crazy.”

Nym listened to them bicker in the background, and ironically, the sheer irritation their arguing brought on returned strength to his body. “Enough!” His voice rang loud and clear, filled with the authority he reserved for his Inquisitor role. Swaying he stood up, turning around to glare at them both. He didn’t care if he was being rude. “Would both of you please shut up!? This is neither the time nor the place for a debate!”

He noticed the blank stares on both Hawke and Stroud, making him falter in his fierce demeanor. “Inquisitor…,” Stroud started.

The elf narrowed his eyes, not wanting to hear any more excuses about this subject. “What!?”

That’s when he realized those blank stares weren’t directed at him, at all. His ears twitched as he picked up on a scuttling sound behind him that made the hairs on his neck stand up. Despite almost not wanting to know what was behind him, he spun around in a hurry.

This time, he too saw spiders. Dozens of them. “Oh, damn.”

“The Nightmare has found us!” The shining figure announced, suddenly disappearing from sight.

“Great. The Spirt Lady bails on us as soon as trouble starts,” Bull grumbled.

Throwing all differences aside, both Hawke and Stroud nodded to each other, then stepped to guard the Inquisitor’s flanks. “We’re with you.”

~…..~

Nym spun around, cutting through another spider that jumped at him. The blade sliced through its exposed stomach, and it fell back to the ground, writhing with its eight hairy legs.

“Gah!” He yelped when hot, stinging hurt entered his neck. A weight made him stumble forward as one of the fearlings jumped onto his back and bit into the crease of his neck and shoulder. Wildly, he struggled, finally managing to toss the spider off his back. It hissed, wriggling on its back before springing back to its feet. As it was about to leap once more, a throwing dagger burrowed into its head, stopping its movements before it could attack.

On his side, Bull was sweeping the spiders with his gigantic axe, sending them flying left and right. “Yaaargh!” He didn’t have his usual bloodthirsty grin he wore when enjoying the battle, probably sick of the miniature terrors and who knows what else that he was seeing in his fears. Nym could relate. At least it wasn’t the undead or his mother anymore.

As the giant warrior tossed another batch of spiders in the air, Varric was by his side to pierce each with a powerful bolt from Bianca. His crossbow could easily shoot a whole volley of bolts at the time, and he used that ability to riddle the small fears with holes.

“Haha! That’s what I’m talking about,” the dwarf exclaimed with a grin as dozen spiders fell scattered on the ground with bolts in them.

Hawke and Dorian wasted no time on their end, burning the spiders coming at them. The creatures squealed and hissed, their long legs twitching while they burned to a crisp.

Nym saw another spider surging at him and he kicked it in the air, sending it flying backwards. With an angry cry, he twirled with both daggers like a hurricane, sending a storm of deadly cuts in all directions. The fearlings surrounded him were sliced down in pieces, slashed and cut open by the enchanted blades.

When he stopped, he was fighting for breath. He didn’t know how long they have been in the Fade – certainly hours. And they have been fighting since the beginning. He wasn’t only winded anymore, he was exhausted. And by Nightmare’s gloating voice, they haven’t even reached the main event. The fear demon was taunting them all the while, but hasn’t shown itself to them yet.

Shapes of people formed in front of him and he frowned in confusion. _*Oh no, not corpses again,*_ he rolled his eyes.

But these corpses weren’t mindless, generic husks he fought before. They looked too specific. Too real. One of them drew closer and Nym gasped as he recognized the person. The short red hair, the tiny freckles on his face, the long pointy ears. It was a young man in his 20s from clan Lavellan…and he died 10 years ago. Nym was so stumped, he struggled to remember the elf’s name. It was Tae- _something_.

“Ahnsul, da’len?” The redhead’s voice was raspy, and it didn’t take long for Nym to realize why – his throat was cut open. “You let us die. It’s your fault. You should have stopped him when you had the chance.”

Nym gulped, taking a step back. Numerous others joined the redhead, shuffling closer from behind. Some were burned, their charred skin barely recognizable. Others were sliced open in places, still bleeding in a dark, thick color of red. They were all dead, but they were all once a part of clan Lavellan – until 10 years ago.

“I didn’t…I couldn’t…,” he tried to defend himself, but he couldn’t find the words. His mind was already weak from everything he learned here in the Fade; about the Devine’s death, yet another of his failures, seeing his mother…He couldn’t take any more of this torture.

“That’s right, you couldn’t!” Another elf called out. This one was just a girl, no older than 14. Also one of his father’s victims 10 years ago. Her head was split in two, and she watched him with bottomless, bleak eyes. “You were too weak! It’s all your fault! Mesildelen!” She pointed at him accusingly.

Long-departed elves of clan Lavellan kept dragging forward on stumbling feet, pushing him to withdraw. All their eyes were filled with hate as they stared at him in blame, piercing his very soul. “N-No I….I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he kept repeating, retreating in his step. A sloshing sound brought his attention downwards and he noticed he wasn’t standing in the murky waters of the Fade anymore. Instead, his feet were covered in crimson blood, and somehow he knew it could only be the blood of his clan. “Ir abelas! Ir abelas!” He screamed as the pool of blood suddenly became bottomless and he fell through, drowning in the crimson.

Struggling for breath, he tried to call for help, but that only caused more of the thick liquid to enter his mouth and nose. The metallic taste made him sick, but he couldn’t spit it out – he couldn’t even draw breath. Surrounded by red nothingness, he trashed in panic. The blood stuck to his body and enveloped his limbs, pulling him down and tiring him out as he fought on, suffocating him all the while. There was no end to it. It was everywhere.

“Inquisitor! Pull yourself together!” Stroud’s loud exclaim came like a sudden arrow, piercing through the hazy mist.  

Other voices joined in, grounding him and returning him to his senses. “Boss, it’s only a hallucination. It’s not real!” Iron Bull’s familiar voice broke through his panicked mind.

Nym’s eyes shot open. He continued to flail in a frenzy while trying to register his surroundings. Strong arms took a hold of him before he realized he was sitting on the ground with dark water pooling around him. Shaking like a leaf on the wind, he felt both mentally and physically drained. Broken. His face an ashen pale color. The elf’s heart kept racing as he took quick, shallow breaths.

Slowly, shapes and faces took familiar form once more and he saw his surrounding companions stare down at him. “Wh-? No, I…My clan?” Confusion overtook him, still shaking violently in Bull’s arms. Concerned expressions stared back at him while his mind slowly regained sense, recollecting everything that happened.

“You were covered in those spider-things. Hawke needed to summon a burst of wind magic just to toss them off you,” Dorian explained. He knelt down next to the slightly disoriented elf, squeezing his hand with a worried gaze. “Are you alright?”

Nym opened his mouth to retort, then bit down on his lip when he realized they were still trembling. “I…,” his voice came in a cracked whisper, forcing him to pause and try again. This time he managed to sound stronger, “I’m fine. I was trapped in a nightmare.”

He shifted to break free from Bull, standing up on wobbly feet. The Tal-Vashoth kept a hold on his shoulder, in case he needed a supporting hand. Nym would give him a grateful smile for it, but he couldn’t muster any kind of expression at the moment. He only stared blankly ahead.

Accusing voices of his dead clansmen still rang clear in his mind. Reminding him of everything that happened ten years ago. He shuddered at the thought – at the fear of reliving that moment in this nightmare. It didn’t yet come to that, but a heavy feeling deep in his gut told him it was only a matter of time. His heart felt weak, so much so he wasn’t sure he’ll be able to endure it when it comes.

Nightmare’s voice broke the tension around them – or perhaps only added to it. “Now you see…Now you understand, Inquisitor. Do you think you can fight me? I am your every fear come to life! I am the veiled hand of Corypheus himself! The demon army you fear? I command it. They are bound, all through me!”

His eyes filled with hate, Nymrodel glared at the path ahead. His jaw tightened in fury just from listening to the damned demon.

But before he could respond, Justinia’s voice echoed in a mirthful tone, surprising everyone. “Ah, so if we banish you, we banish the demons? Thank you, Every fear come to life.” Outwitted, the Nightmare grunted in frustration. Momentarily, it pulled away from their presence and Nym exhaled in relief when he felt it gone.

Hawke gave him a reassuring gaze. “It’s alright, it’s happening to all of us. I also saw…disturbing things,” he admitted.

“Me too,” Varric muttered, all humor gone from his face.

“The damned demon is toying with us,” Iron Bull growled.

“At least we have the Devine’s spirit to guide us through.” Nym found his voice again, some of his vigor returning to him. He should have felt reassured that he wasn’t the only one plagued by these nightmares, but it didn’t help. It only worried him; the thought that his friends were going through the same suffering as him.

Stroud urged them on, “We need to keep moving. The exit can’t be far now.”

~…..~

“Hurry up, Cole!” Iron Bull shouted through his grunts as he held off a Pride demon with his axe, the two matching their strength - a weapon against a clawed hand.

Something shifted behind the Pride’s back and Cole appeared on its head, climbing over it and stabbing both of his daggers into its numerous beady eyes.

Meanwhile, Hawke used all his might in magic to keep a paralyzing spell on the second Pride. He reached with both arms towards it, every muscle in his body tense from the effort, gritting his teeth as he kept his hold on the strong demon. Stroud used that opportunity to charge at it with his sword in hand, piercing the demon in its exposed abdomen. The monster roared in anger when he stabbed it with a warrior’s cry.

Seeing both demons were weakened, Nymrodel raised his left hand through the air and summoned the power of the Anchor. The recognizable fade portal appeared and it started sucking in the two Pride demons, weakening them further. Since they were already in the Fade, he wondered where the rift will take them. Perhaps to some other, distant part of the Fade, or straight into the Abyss. The fade rift swallowed both demons in, then closed in itself.

The elf let out a shaky breath, falling to his knees in exhaustion. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep up all this fighting while using his mark. And all the while the Nightmare’s attack on his psyche continued. Cruel and unrelenting. Even now, he could hear the whispering accusations of his deceased clansmen.   

_“You are at fault.”_

_“Harellan.”_

_“Fen’harel ver na!”_

_“Like father like son.”_

With a sharp gasp, Nym’s eyes snapped open as he jerked his head up. He returned back to reality, soaking up his surroundings to stay grounded. With an exhale, he stood back up. Determination and stubbornness were the only things keeping him going, as he refused to give in to this Nightmare.

That’s when he picked up on a hushed conversation from the side.

“He can’t go on like this, he looks awful. He needs rest,” Varric whispered.

“We cannot stop now,” Stroud countered.

“He is in pain,” Cole’s solemn voice added.

Nym’s expression hardened and he pierced them with a confident gaze, willing himself to shun his swirling doubts. “I can keep going. We can’t allow ourselves to stop.” His tone left no room to argue.

His friends glanced at each other, uncertainty written on their faces, but they kept their thoughts to themselves. Nobody tried to disagree with him so they moved on.

Nightmare listened in on their conversations, adding its unwelcome input once in a while, if only to keep them on edge. “Little elf thinks he can beat me…But the little elf knows he’s weak. _Hesitant_.” The demon laughed.

“How about you eat shit, demon!” Iron Bull yelled into the sky, sick and tired of listening to its damned ramblings.

“This one really likes to listen to itself talk,” Hawke commented.

“Ah, the Qunari…No, _Tal-Vashoth_ ,” the Nightmare sang. “The Traitor. How does it feel knowing you’ve lost everything? Your home, your people…you betrayed them all,” it spoke in a sly tone. “You are _afraid,_ the Iron Bull. Afraid of possession…of demons….of _madness_. That’s right; now that you’ve turned your back on the Qun, you’ll fall into madness, into savagery, just like the rest of your kin. You will destroy everything you hold dear with your own hands.”

Blood seething and eyes seeing red, Bull clenched the axe in his hands, regretting that he couldn’t just smash this bastard to pieces here and now. His temper was rising, hard to stay calm when the demon was pushing all of his buttons. A light touch to his arm brought him out of his rising rage. He blinked down to see the elf staring up at him with an assured gaze. Wordlessly telling him everything will be ok. Nym looked exhausted; his skin deathly pale, his eyes bloodshot, his ordinarily straight back slightly hunched as if there was a heavy burden on his shoulders. Still dirty and wet from the water he almost drowned in earlier. Nevertheless, he silently pressed on without complaint. So how could Bull do any less? He gave the elf a small nod and the two continued their walk in silence.

A good whole hour of fighting demons later, the group finally arrived in front of a doorway, where the illuminant helpful spirit was waiting for them.

“You must get through the rift, Inquisitor. Get through and then slam it closed with all your strength,” the spirit with a voice of a woman told him. “That will banish the army of demons…and exile the cursed creature to the farthest reaches of the Fade.”

Nym didn’t know how much of that strength he had left, but he has come too far to give up now. And he knew he wasn’t alone in this. Together with his comrades, he could do this. _They_ could do this together.

They followed after the spirit leading them to the peculiar doorway made of fade energy. Stepping through it, they saw the giant fade rift that led to the other side – to their freedom.

“The rift! We’re almost there!” Hawke exclaimed in more hope than he had since they have fallen into this place.

Varric didn’t sound as pleased when he callously responded, “Great, Hawke. Why not just dare the Old Gods to try and stop you?”

On everyone’s dismay, Varric proved to be correct when they saw the scene in front of them. In the valley ahead, they saw the largest, monstrous spider they could ever imagine. No, this was by far exceeding anyone’s imagination.

The Inquisitor gaped, losing all hope as despair overtook him in a form of weakness. “ _That_ is the Nightmare?! How do we fight that thing?!”

In front of the gigantic spider was another demon – smaller, but terrifying nonetheless. It appeared more sentient than its monstrous comrade, and it slowly approached, hissing at them. It showed razor sharp teeth, saliva dripping from them. Even though it didn’t appear to have any eyes, they could still somehow feel its stare on them and it made the elf shudder. Six legs of a spider protruded from its back, moving on their own accord as if having a mind of their own, while it reached with its two arms for them. It levitated above the ground, dirty, torn rags of its clothing fluttering around it.

“Aw, shit,” Bull cursed at the sight.

Nym took an unconscious step back, when a scuttling noise caught his ears. The sound was well-known by now and he wasn’t surprised to see spiders crawling from each dark crevice around them.

They were surrounded with nowhere to retreat. The only way out of the Fade was the rift clouded behind the enormous Nightmare blocking their path. Devine’s spirit was the one that brought them out of their shocked daze, as she passed Nym by in a flash of bright light. “If you would, please tell Leliana; “I’m sorry. I failed you, too.” The spirit flew upwards, blazing brighter and brighter, until it became sheer blinding light. The light was charged with energy, sparks of it bursting through the air. Without hesitation, as if charged with everyone’s hopes and emotions, Justinia’s spirit flew into the enormous spider with an explosion of glaring power.

Nym had to shield his eyes from the bright light, but when it finally cleared, the spider was gone. It collapsed down a cliff from the collision and disappeared from their sight.

_*That spirit managed to defeat such a monster,*_ the elf was astonished beyond belief. _*It bought us some time!*_ Wordlessly, he thanked the mysterious power that helped them. Whatever that spirit was, it was powerful, and it sacrificed its very existence to help them. Just like Devine herself gave her life to save him. He wasn’t about to disappoint either of them, and he certainly wasn’t going to let their sacrifices be in vain. Lavellan unsheathed his weapons, glaring at the smaller version of the Nightmare as it flew at them with an angry hiss.

At the same time, the swarm of fearlings scurried towards them. Nym, for one, had enough of those cursed tiny terrors. Hell, he had enough of this whole damned place. To the Void with all of them!

He slinked into the shadows, using rocks for cover as he approached the Nightmare’s secondary form. Cutting through a fearling on his way, he rushed at the demon. The creature used one of its spider legs to pierce at him, extending it further than it seemed possible. He had to make a decision in a split second. Luckily, Heir’s training kicked in and in the next moment he dropped down on the ground, sliding the rest of the way, the piercing limb passing above him. Daggers at the ready, he reached the demon. Spinning in his crouch, the rogue delivered series of slices into the creature’s side as he stood up in his spin – like a whirlwind on the rise.

The demon hissed in fury, slashing at him with one hand while trying to stab him with all six spider legs. But the elf disappeared from its sight as quickly as he appeared. He threw a smoke bomb beneath his feet, vanishing from the scene.

While it looked for the elf, three bolts pierced the Nightmare’s back. It turned to see Varric swiftly reloading his crossbow. At the same time, Bull and Stroud were charging at the demon, weapons raised. Before they could reach it, the Aspect of the Nightmare screeched. Letting out an inhuman shriek, it sent a blast of energy in all direction, pushing its enemies away.

Everyone caught in the blast were sent flying backwards, their weapons clattering on the wet ground. Nym was flung from the shadows and slammed into one of the boulders with a pained grunt. His body shook as he tried to get back to his feet swiftly.

Fearling spiders tried to overrun them while they were still lying on the ground. Luckily Dorian burned them to a crisp, while Hawke used wind magic to fling them away. The apostate swung with the base of his staff upwards, creating a slicing gust of wind and sending it towards the Nightmare.

An eerie eyeless face turned towards him, but before his magic could hit, the demon simply vanished. “You cannot stand against me!” A deep voice resonated from all around. They could feel it even in their bones.  

“Where the fuck did it go!?” Bull snarled in frustration.

All of a sudden, his question was answered when the demon reappeared right behind Nymrodel. “Inquisitor,” Nightmare’s Aspect hissed, reaching its hands towards his temples.

Lavellan didn’t know what it was trying to do to him, but he sure as hell didn’t want to find out. He jumped into a forward roll, swiftly turning on his heel to throw three daggers at it. The throwing knives hit the demon’s chest and shoulder, making it shriek. Though it sounded angry rather than in pain. The knives fell to the ground, their sharp tips bent. His eyes caught a shimmer of blue light on the creature, making him realize there was some kind of barrier protecting it. Instead of hurting it, their attacks were only infuriating it more.   

The Nightmare’s Aspect unhinged its jaws and a swarm of tiny black bugs flew out of it. At first Nym thought they were flies, but he couldn’t see clearly as he was too busy swatting at the things. He used his daggers to slice through, but the small creatures were everywhere, going after each person in his group.

_*What are these things!?*_ Nym swatted at the bugs and kept slicing with his daggers, but they kept coming. They collided with his face, clouding his vision and trying to enter his mouth and nose.

From the distance, he heard a loud cry and opened one teary eye to see Warden Stroud in a predicament. The demon lurked behind him, holding his clawed hands over the man’s temples, just as it tried to do to Nym earlier. Immediately, he could see something was wrong with Stroud. The warrior cried in agony, his eyes wide open but blank, as if he was in a daze. Nightmare’s Aspect wiggled its spider legs, using Stroud’s distracted state to pierce into his chest plate.

“Stroud!” Lavellan called out and rushed to his side. The creature’s stinging legs didn’t manage to pierce the warrior’s thick armor in one stab, but they proceeded to push forward, slowly drilling through the armor with their sharpened points.

A malicious sting caught Nym’s calf and he gazed down to see one of the fearlings burrowing its sharp little fangs into his flesh. It was trying to stop him in his run. He stumbled, before quickly slicing its head off with his dagger, then turning back to help Stroud.

“We’ll destroy its barrier, Nym, be ready!” Dorian’s voice brought Lavellan’s attention on him and Hawke. The two were standing nearby, both of them in the middle of casting a complex spell.

“Die, demon!” The apostate aimed his staff at the Nightmare, and so did Dorian.

The demon hissed as two bolts of bright light hit it, draining whatever protection it had on.

“Now!” Dorian yelled.

Nym threw a dagger at the demon’s head, hoping to distract it from its attack, at least. This time, the blade passed. It lodged itself on the thick skull of the monster’s head, and the demon flew backwards from the impact, releasing Stroud. The Warden fell to his knees, panting. 

An angry roar sounded behind the Nightmare as Bull swung his axe to split the creature in half. The horizontal slice passed through nothing but air, however, as the demon vanished once again.

“Shit…So close,” Nymrodel muttered.  

Yet, their teamwork was far from over. This time, Varric was careful to analyze the battlefield, and as soon as he saw the demon starting to reform, he shot a volley of bolts towards it. A few hit, lodging into the Nightmare’s crusted skin.

Once again, the creature screeched in that same shrill voice. “You will all fall!” The deep voice of the Nightmare added. The Nightmare’s Aspect continued its shriek, piercing everyone’s ears until they fell to their knees from the pain.

Nym covered his sensitive ears, feeling his head was about to explode. He didn’t even notice he was screaming in pain, in harmony with the demon. When the ear-piercing cry finally stopped, he felt weakened by it. His breathing was heavy as he kept his head bowed, trying to focus on his surroundings. Something wet trickled from his right ear and as he wiped it, he saw blood on his gloved fingers.

Slowly, he raised his head back up, feeling too disoriented to rise on his unsteady feet. His eyes widened as he saw a figure standing before him. An elven boy, of 11 years old. He stood there silently, staring at Nymrodel with his big green eyes that were speckled with golden yellow. His long raven hair framed his pale face. There was a trickle of blood staining the corner of his mouth, and an even larger spot of blood in his sternum, tarnishing his white tunic.

“No…,” Nym whispered. A desperate expression contorted on his features when his gaze softened. “Not you.”

The boy simply stared down at Nymrodel with a blank expression. Wordlessly. Whispers around him started up again, and he noticed his dead clansmen surrounding him once more. Nym fiercely shook his head, “This isn’t real!”

But the blood dripping down the boy’s chest and onto the ground couldn’t look more real. “Isa'ma'lin,” the boy called out, speaking for the first time. As he did, fresh blood dribbled down his mouth. “Isa'ma'lin, it hurts.”

“Ah…,” Nymrodel’s whole body shook as he slowly stood up, his knees wobbly. His whole body felt weak, every muscle screaming in pain. He reached for his long-gone brother, unable to discern reality from illusion any longer. The sensible part of his brain was clouded as if a shroud fell over it. “Sei…Seiriadel,” he called out, his hand inching towards his twin. He could almost touch him now.

Before his hand closed the distance between them, a sharp pain spread through his chest. Eyes wide in disbelief, he choked on the pain. His gaze fell down to see a blade protruding from his chest – stabbing the same spot Sei was pierced through. Nymrodel coughed out blood as a feeling of searing led settled in his chest. Tears fell from his eyes as he kept his gaze locked on his bother. His twin who will never grow up to be the same age as him. Cold breath tickled his ear as someone stood close behind him. Without having to look, he understood who it was, yet he turned his head anyway. With a pained gasp, Nym stared at green eyes that returned his gaze, and black hair framing that pale face; so similar to Seiriadel’s. Sei did get his appearance from Father.

A disappointed sigh came from the older man, still holding the blade that cruelly pierced Nym’s chest. “You failed again, Nymrodel. I told you, you are too weak….too kind to do what needs to be done. That’s why you weren’t able to stop me then…and you can’t stop me now.” His tone was relaxed, almost humorous, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. As if he didn’t just run his son through with a dagger.

The Nightmare chuckled in its gravelly voice, making Lavellan sick to his stomach. “Do your scars burn, little elf? Do you feel them still on your back when you remember your father’s betrayal? You will die in agony!”

As if commanded by the demon, hot stinging ache spread through his back, right where his scars were. Nym tried to breathe, but couldn’t. The blood rising in his throat and mouth was choking him, the blazing pain burning his entire chest. His shoulders trembled weakly. And yet, the first feeling Nym felt wasn’t fear – it was anger. Even if he was to die here and now, he wanted to make sure he takes this evil bastard with him. He felt the heavy haft in his hand and was reminded of the dual daggers he was still holding onto. “Su an’banal i’ma,” he hissed viciously and spun enough to stab his blade right through his father’s eye.

The apparition didn’t make a sound. Instead, it simply dispersed into that eerie swarm of black bugs. Nym fell to the floor and inhaled deeply when he realized he could breathe again. The pain in his chest was gone, as was the wound and all his other haunting delusions. He could think clearly again and quickly he analyzed his surroundings, finally remembering there was a real enemy right there.

He saw Hawke and Stroud in a dazed state, probably experiencing the same condition he was in a few moments ago. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but he saw the rest of his companions still fighting the Nightmare’s Aspect. Hatefully, he narrowed his eyes at the demon– the Nightmare made it personal. It was time to end this.

Whatever protection was shielding the demon was gone now, and their hits were cutting deep into the demon’s armored body. It responded by extending its spider appendages, trying to pierce at Cole, who dodged by jumping into a side roll.

With a furious cry, Bull swung his axe at the demon, but the creature shielded its front with those surprisingly-hard extremities and blocked the blow. It twisted its body, slashing at the Tal-Vashoth and got him on the shoulder and side with its sharp claws.

The man didn’t slow down, ignoring the stinging wounds, as he swung his weapon upwards. It would have cleaved the demon in half, if only the monster hadn’t vanished in thin air again.

“Kaffas, it keeps doing that!” Dorian growled in frustration, quickly casting a barrier on all of them and scanning the battlefield for the missing creature.

“He’s an elusive bugger, I’ll give ‘im that.” Varric muttered in agreement, his expression humorless.

Watching this, Nymrodel got an idea. Or rather, his nightmare earlier enlightened him. As morbid as it was, the cruel attack from his father just now might be the opening he was searching for. He would only get one chance at this, but one chance was all he needed.

He stood upright and whistled as loud as he could, bringing everyone’s attention to himself. Searching the area for the demon, he glared into the empty space around him. “Enough games, Nightmare! You want to be the one who defeats the Inquisitor? Well, I’m right here! Let’s end this!”

His companions stared at him as if he were insane. “Perhaps provoking it is not the best course of action, no?” Dorian warningly mumbled to the elf, but the other wasn’t listening; he had other things to worry about at the moment.

“Wait. Give him a chance. He has a plan,” Cole whispered next to him.

As devious as the Nightmare was, it was also vain – and that made it predictable. Nym speculated it wouldn’t be able to resist his taunts, or at least hoped it wouldn’t. Luckily, he was right.

A vicious hiss resounded in his ear and before he could turn, the demon reappeared levitating behind him. The same as with Stroud before, it hovered its hands over his temples, and instantly, a sharp pain pierced his brain. He screamed in sudden agony, feeling as if his mind was about to explode. The demon was trying to drag him into one of its hellish nightmares again.

“You fool! You will experience agony like never before! Those nightmares I showed you were nothing but a taste of what is to come!” Nightmare’s booming voice resounded all around them.

“Nym!” Dorian and the others shouted in worry, ready to charge to his rescue. But he only gave them a sharp look in return – a knowing stare that meant _‘Wait._ ’ They halted in their step, uncertain whether to let him suffer like this.

The Inquisitor recalled the hallucination of his father, standing close behind him – similar to the Nightmare now. He hoped he would bring it the same end. He gripped his daggers, using the rough feeling of leather on his skin as a focus point – something to keep him anchored in reality until he moves.

And move he did. Nym spun his enchanted daggers in each hand, turning the sharpened points behind him, and stabbed with all his might. He felt the momentary resistance of tough flesh, like piercing a tree bark, but then the blades sunk in. He stabbed both daggers in the demon’s stomach, as far as he could muster with his left-over strength, until they reached the crossguards. The creature shrilled in his ears, releasing him from its hold.

As soon as the pressure in his head subsided, Nym leaped in a forward roll to get some distance from the demon, pulling his daggers out in the process. Turning around, he sent two throwing knives flying at it and called out to his companions, “Attack!”

His comrades didn’t hesitate for a second, as they accumulated their force to attack the Nightmare’s Aspect while it was vulnerable. What’s more, in its weakened state, it couldn’t control Stroud and Hawke’s nightmares any longer, releasing them from their personal hells.

Hawke cried in anger, infuriated from whatever he saw in his dream. He summoned an electric cage, which tightened around the demon; paralyzing it and shocking it at the same time. Meanwhile, Dorian used his fire magic to ignite the very air around the creature, causing an explosion. Warden Stroud charged forward with a battle cry, running the monster through with his longsword. With Bianca and Nym’s throwing knives, Varric and Nym used ranged combat to fight it. Cole appeared behind the Nightmare’s Aspect, jumping into the air and slicing two of its spider appendages. The creature tried to vanish again, but its ragged robes were still on fire, leaving a burning trail wherever it tried to hide.

Bull caught on it, not wasting the opportunity this time. He saw the smoke and cinders move through the air, and slashed with his axe, even if he couldn’t see the demon itself. A howl of pain accompanied his battle roar, and the demon appeared again. But this time, there was a giant cut that almost split its body in half. With a long shriek, the Nightmare’s Aspect started to dissolve into hundreds of tiny black creatures that resembled flies. Mere moments later, there was nothing but rags left in its stead on the ground.

Nymrodel let out an exhausted breath, falling to his knees in relief as the battle finally ended. _*It’s finally over.*_ Weakness washed over him, the mental and physical strain kicking in now that his adrenaline was fading.

Except it wasn’t over, after all. Hawke dragged him back to his feet. “Come on, we can’t relax yet. We need to get out of here,” he reminded him.

The elf nodded, sheathing back his daggers. “You’re right…We need to escape and I need to close the rift.” He swayed, almost falling over if not for Hawke’s strong arm.

All of their eyes fell on the opened portal leading out of the Fade. Almost unanimously, they all broke into a run towards it. Nym, for one, didn’t want to spend another second in this place and he could tell the others felt the same way.

He let his friends take the lead, wanting to make sure everyone gets out safely before he exits and shuts the portal, just as Justinia’s spirit told him to; _“Shut it as hard as you can and banish the demon!”_

His heart was racing, the adrenaline winning over his exhaustion once more. Varric was first to jump through and Dorian was next. He saw Iron Bull glance at him, a glint of hesitation in his eye. He gave him the best reassuring smile he could, even as it barely reached his tired eyes, “I’m right behind you!” Bull nodded and ran through, his broad back disappearing from Nym’s sight. A slight wariness pricked his chest as he saw Iron Bull disappear, as if he felt slightly less secure without the trustworthy Tal-Vashoth watching his back. But the worrying feeling only lasted a second, and vanished as soon as it appeared. The Inquisitor let out a relieved sigh, seeing that his friends were out of danger’s grip. Now to wait for Hawke and Stroud, who were taking out fearlings in the back, preventing the little demons from following the group.

“You’re turn, heroes,” he grinned, urging them to follow him. They only needed to climb that small hill up ahead and they would reach the portal.  

The ground shook beneath their feet, forcing them out of their pace. They stumbled around, then stopped in their tracks as a rumbling sound came from above. It sounded like thunder broke out from the already-chaotic sky. The trio gazed up in wonder, and their jaws fell.

The _real_ Nightmare demon was back in all its massive glory. It sat itself on the hill above, right between them and the rift. Its giant fangs wriggled as it watched them with numerous beady red eyes – a spider about to devour its prey.

Stroud was the first to wake from their shock. “We need to clear a path!”

“But how do we get past that thing!?” The elf was out of ideas.

It was Hawke who rattled them with an unexpected declaration, “Go! I’ll cover you.”

Nym turned towards him with wide eyes, disbelief and shock written on his features. He opened his mouth to protest, but the Warden was quicker.

“No! You were right. The Grey Wardens caused this. A Warden must-,” Stroud never got to finish as the mage cut him off.

“A Warden must help them rebuild! That’s _your_ job!” He glared back at the Nightmare with hate. “Corypheus is mine!”

Lavellan was against it. He disagreed with them both. “No!” He shook his head in denial. “There has to be another way! We can…we can…,” he couldn’t finish as no words came to him. No new ideas. His eyes darted around in panic, trying to think of a solution. _Anything_. Desperately, he begged his own mind to give him a plan.

“There is no other way,” Warden Stroud told him in a surprisingly steady voice for someone who was to sacrifice himself. He already came to terms with it.

The Nightmare hissed at them, sluggishly moving one leg forward. It reminded them they didn’t have time for a debate in the Fade.

“We can’t waste any more time here arguing,” Hawke warned.

“That is why you must go. Now!” Stroud all but pushed them away.

Nym’s eyes were glued to Stroud, never breaking contact even as his voice broke from the anguish. “Stroud…” He wanted to beg the man to come with them, but no words came out, because he knew the warrior made his choice.

“Inquisitor, it has been an honor,” the Warden gave him a firm nod. Unlike Nym, his demeanor never wavered.

The elf felt a strong grip on his shoulder as Hawke pulled him away. “We have to go,” the man murmured, his voice also laced with sorrow.

“I will tell the Grey Wardens what you did today, Stroud. The World will know of your sacrifice,” Lavellan shouted before he started his run, and for a second, he thought he saw a shadow of a smile flicker on Stroud’s lips.

“For the Wardens!” Stroud charged with a cry, slicing into one of the Nightmare’s poisonous fangs. The creature screeched in pain, momentarily distracted, which allowed enough time for Nym and Hawke to slip past it and through the opening.

~…..~

Iron Bull held his breath, awaiting to see Lavellan jump out of that rift along with Hawke and Stroud. Everything stood still around him, as if he couldn’t register anything other than the portal shimmering in front of his eyes. Moments felt like eternity as they stretched out, passing one heartbeat at the time, and still the Inquisitor didn’t appear. His horns started itching in impatience, every muscle in his body tense. “Come on, _come on_ ,” he forced through his teeth, as if he could will Nym into existence. Call him back to this world.

When he and the rest jumped through the portal, yet the trio didn’t follow, Bull’s mind instantly went to the worst possible scenario. All he could think about was Nym’s reassuring smile, his words sticking to Bull, _“I’m right behind you.”_ But he wasn’t, and when the warrior saw nothing but an empty space as he turned around, his stomach twisted with doubt. He witnessed too much death in his lifetime for his mind not to consider the devastating possibility. Yet he wasn’t thinking how they might lose the Inquisitor, their leader, or the only man who can stand against Corypheus. All he could think about was that he might lose _Nym_ ; a kind, strongminded, witty elf that he came to care for. A comrade in arms and a trusted friend, that only recently became his lover. Bull wasn’t prepared to lose him. He doubted he ever would be.

The rift crackled, sparks of green energy flying out of it. And with them – Hawke. Varric let out a relieved breath next to him, but the Tal-Vashoth couldn’t relax yet. Then Nymrodel flew out of the portal, landing in a crouch and standing up as if in slow-motion. “Yes!” Bull exclaimed with laughter, grinning widely as he saw the Inquisitor rise to his feet. Like the rest of them, Nym was a bit worse for wear, but he was alive, and he was _here_. At the moment, that’s all Iron Bull needed.

But Nym’s expression was grim – the same cold stare he had while fighting Nightmare. He raised his marked hand towards the open rift and let it do its work. The rift closed with a thunderous explosion, draining the lives of all remaining demons that came out of it. The force he closed it with was so strong, it blasted a few of the nearest Inquisition soldiers off their feet.

They didn’t mind, though, as they quickly joined the cheering cries that spread across Adamant like wildfire. The Inquisition was victorious. Yet despite the celebratory atmosphere, Nym’s demeanor stayed as somber as before, while Hawke’s expression equaled it.

That’s when Bull noticed one person was missing. Stroud. He was nowhere to be seen and the rift was already closed. That could only mean one thing – he didn’t make it. The Tal-Vashoth cursed, shaking his head in regret, _*Stroud was a damn fine soldier.*_

The celebrations continued as some of the Grey Wardens joined the Inquisition troops in their applauding. The Warden mages glanced around in confusion, trying to comprehend the situation now that they were free from Corypheus’ control.

Hawke stepped next to the group. “She was right. Without the Nightmare to control them, the mages are free, and Corypheus loses his demon army.” His knowing gaze turned towards Nymrodel, “Though as far as they’re all concerned, the Inquisitor broke the spell with the blessing of the Maker.” He pointed at Lavellan’s mark.

The elf scowled. “I’m not going to lie to them. I’ll tell everyone _exactly_ what happened.”

Bull could see Nym was upset, and knew it had little to do with the Anchor. He was barely troubled by it during their trip in the Fade, even when he first learned the truth behind it. No, there was something else eating at the elf.

The apostate sighed, “Honestly, after all the death they’ve seen…perhaps it would be better to let them believe the legend.”

The Inquisitor’s mouth turned into a frown. Unlike Hawke, he wasn’t able to decide so quickly if that was truly the best option. His thoughts were interrupted when one of his soldiers ran up to them.

“Inquisitor! The Archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared. The Venatori Magister is unconscious but alive. Commander Cullen thought you might wish to deal with him yourself.” He turned a distrustful gaze towards the Grey Wardens. “As for the Wardens, those who weren’t corrupted, helped us fight the demons.”

Nym’s troubled frown never left his face. So the only Wardens left were the uncorrupted ones…that was good, but a lot of them still went through with the sacrifices, killing their fellow Wardens – what they did was abhorrent, even if it was under their superior’s orders. He was divided in his decision on how to deal with them.

One of the Warden warriors approached him. “We stand ready to help make up for Clarel’s….tragic mistake.”

_*Tragic mistake! That’s one way to put it,*_ Nym almost snorted at that phrasing.

Another voice broke through the crowd as a different Warden exclaimed in question, “Where is Stroud?”

A sullen silence enveloped them all. The Inquisitor froze, all other thoughts forgotten as he remembered the Warden’s last moments. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth in evident pain. Unable to look at their inquisitive eyes, he bowed his head low. He willed his voice to keep steady and strong as he finally spoke, “Warden Stroud died striking a blow against the servant of the Blight.” As he continued his speech, he looked up, his burning gaze traveling across all the Wardens there. “We will honor his sacrifice, and remember how he exemplified the ideals of the Grey Wardens. Even as Corypheus and his servants tried to destroy you all from within, he held strong until the end. He died a hero! And he avenged the Wardens!”

The Wardens looked at each other askingly, until the first one – perhaps a Lieutenant – stepped forward. With a lost and desperate expression, he gazed up at Nym through his helmet. “Inquisitor. We have no one left of any significant rank. What do we do now?”

Nym’s eyes traveled across the area. Inquisition troops and Grey Wardens stood together – they fought each other in this war, but at the end of it, they battled side by side. Bled together. He saw the companions of his inner circle join them. Everyone’s eyes were directed at Nymrodel, awaiting his decision. His gaze fell on Hawke, and the mage gave him a small nod. The two of them were the only ones present for Stroud’s final moments. For his last words.

He couldn’t presume to know what the warrior wanted for the Grey Wardens, but he knew he owed Stroud to give them a chance. He turned to the Warden soldiers again, “Stay and help the Inquisition. Stroud died for the ideals of the Wardens. In war, victory. And we are still at war. Do you believe the Wardens can still help?”

The man nodded firmly, forming their shared sentiment into words, “I do, Your Worship.” There was no hesitation in his voice. Approving murmurs spread through the rest of the Warden ranks.

“Inquisitor, I must protest!” Solas stepped out from the crowd, scowling in disapproval at the other elf. “They are still vulnerable to Corypheus, and possibly his Venatori! How can you trust them after everything they’ve done!?”

“Yes, they hurt people,” Cole exclaimed, agreeing with the elven mage.

Lavellan sighed in exasperation, but stood his ground. “Perhaps. But there are plenty of demons and Darkspawn that need killing. We can use them on other fronts, not necessarily fighting the Venatori or Corypheus head-to-head,” he explained.

“I agree! The Wardens can still do good,” Blackwall argued, glaring at the mage.

Solas looked like he wanted to argue further, but stayed his tongue. He kept the disapproving expression on his face, however.

Wanting to break some of the tension, Hawke cleared his throat. “While they do that, I’ll inform the Wardens at Weisshaupt what’s happened. Best they not get caught off guard,” he proposed and Nym nodded in agreement.

 “You’re leaving already?” Varric raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“I’ll come to Skyhold with you to gather my things, but after that…yes.” He gave his friend an apologetic smile.

The Warden Lieutenant bowed his head to the Inquisitor. “Thank you, Your Worship. We will not fail you.” After everything that’s happened, Nymrodel sure hoped so.

* * *

 

 Glossary:

_Mamae_ – mom

_Ahnsul, da’len_ \- Why, child?

_Mesildelen_ \- pathetic person, pitiful person

_Ir abelas_ – I’m sorry

_Isa'ma'lin_ \- brother

_Su an’banal i’ma_ \- To the void with you

_Kaffas_ \- Shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you had as much fun reading this chapter as I had writing it. Also, thank you all for your awesome comments and kudos, I really appreciate it!  
>  See you next time! And Marry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it! (I still can't believe I managed to post the new chapter exactly on Christmas, haha!)


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